


Let the dominoes fall

by LunaKat



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions, Pocket Monsters: Black 2 & White 2 | Pokemon Black 2 & White 2 Versions
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Growing Up, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of Sex, drinking and drug usage, ennui, headcannons, mentions of unhealthy coping, the shipping is kinda subtle and you have to squint a little
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2018-12-10 18:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 80
Words: 56,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11696982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaKat/pseuds/LunaKat
Summary: A series of drabbles and oneshots centered around life in the aftermath of the events of BW2.Updates Fridays.





	1. List

**Author's Note:**

> I had this drabble list, some time to kill, and lots of feels that need to get out, so I'm gonna swamp you all with my headcannons.
> 
> Contains: domestic fluff, swearing, drinking, slightly unhealthy coping methods, some lack of chronologically, LGBTQ characters, PTSD/ennui

**List*:**

1\. ~~Violinist. (Or violin)~~  
2\. ~~Insomniac.~~  
3\. ~~Paper aeroplane.~~  
4\. ~~Dandelion seed.~~  
5\. ~~Feather.~~  
6\. ~~She sings.~~  
7\. ~~Dragonfly toes.~~  
8\. ~~A stolen ring.~~  
9\. ~~Broken wristwatch.~~  
10\. ~~Missing tooth.~~  
11\. ~~Horoscope.~~  
12\. ~~Fairytale gone wrong.~~  
13\. ~~Cliché.~~  
14\. ~~Ribbon.~~  
15\. ~~Renaissance.~~  
16\. ~~Staccato.~~  
17\. ~~Cadence.~~  
18\. ~~Asphyxiate.~~  
19\. ~~Lucky rabbit's paw.~~  
20\. ~~Freckles.~~  
21\. ~~3:28am.~~  
22\. ~~Kaleidoscope.~~  
23\. ~~Icarus.~~  
24\. ~~1000 paper cranes.~~  
25\. ~~Origami.~~  
26\. ~~Hallucination.~~  
27\. ~~Puppet show.~~  
28\. ~~Triskaidekaphobia. (Fear of the number thirteen.)~~  
29\. ~~Hourglass.~~  
30\. ~~Letters to the moon.~~  
31\. ~~Jupiter.~~  
32\. ~~Ballet shoes.~~  
33\. ~~Spider.~~  
34\. ~~Silhouette.~~  
35\. ~~Breathless. (Or, breathlessly.)~~  
36\. ~~Tachycardia. (An unusually fast heartbeat.)~~  
37\. ~~Bradycardia. (A very slow heartbeat.)~~  
38\. ~~Inkspot.~~  
39\. ~~Squirrel.~~  
40\. ~~Strobe light.~~  
41\. ~~Astronomer.~~  
42\. ~~Fake quirks.~~  
43\. ~~Contact lenses.~~  
44\. ~~Siren. (Either the mythological creature, or the object.)~~  
45\. ~~Selkie.~~  
46\. ~~Comet in a bottle.~~  
47\. ~~Yin-yang.~~  
48\. ~~Samsara.~~  
49\. ~~Reincarnation.~~  
50\. ~~Tarot card.~~  
51\. ~~Goldfish.~~  
52\. ~~Mirage.~~  
53\. ~~Filigree.~~  
54\. ~~Paprika.~~  
55\. ~~Everyone was dancing, but me.~~  
56\. ~~Nameless.~~  
57\. ~~Debauchery.~~  
58\. ~~Paris. (Either the city, or the mythological Greek.)~~  
59\. ~~Exhale.~~  
60\. ~~Fortuna major. (Greater fortune.)~~  
61\. ~~Carpe diem.~~  
62\. ~~Que sera sera~~.  
63\. ~~Vices and virtues.~~  
64\. ~~Necromancer.~~  
65\. ~~Gunpowder and gunshots.~~  
66\. ~~China teacups.~~  
67\. ~~Pinky promises.~~  
68\. ~~Chrysalis.~~  
69\. ~~Casino.~~  
70\. ~~Oliver Twist.~~  
71\. ~~Euphoria.~~  
72\. ~~Green eyes.~~  
73\. ~~Piercing.~~  
74\. ~~North star.~~  
75\. ~~Goggles.~~  
76\. ~~Maiden name.~~  
77\. ~~1666.~~  
78\. ~~Lily.~~  
79\. ~~Kerosene.~~  
80\. Self-doubt.  
81\. Apple bobbing.  
82\. Dark horse.  
83\. Rosary.  
84\. Vanilla.  
85\. Red lipstick.  
86\. Blink.  
87\. Text message.  
88\. Peacock.  
89\. The cat meowed.  
90\. Smirking.  
91\. Her pet cheetah.  
92\. Firefly.  
93\. November.  
94\. Daisy chain.  
95\. Scruffy handwriting.  
96\. Words etched on her lips.  
97\. Coloured foil.  
98\. Riddle.  
99\. Batteries.  
100\. Teenager.  
101\. Doe eyes.  
102\. One night stand.  
103\. Doppelganger.  
104\. Silver-studded lips.  
105\. 'Where are you?'  
106\. Typo.  
107\. Hydrophobia.  
108\. Romeo and Rosaline.  
109\. Apple pips for pupils.  
110\. No shoes in the rain.  
111\. Corsets, garters and petticoats.  
112\. Heterochromia.  
113\. Swallowing silver spoons.  
114\. A spoonful of sugar makes the lies go down.  
115\. Mistaken identity.  
116\. Too much make-up and not enough clothing.  
117\. Drawings on the walls.  
118\. Colouring between the lines.  
119\. Alexander the Great.  
120\. Troubadour.  
121\. Anathema.  
122\. Twisted ankle.  
123\. Leopard spots.  
124\. Touching the clouds.  
125\. Forbidden.  
126\. Scissors.  
127\. I told you so.  
128\. Lump in the throat.  
129\. Shoulders.  
130\. Sunburn.  
131\. London.  
132\. Ambulance.  
133\. Graveyard.  
134\. Talking nonsense.  
135\. Beginnings, middles, ends.  
136\. Not enough.  
137\. Pensive.  
138\. Everyone found out.  
139\. Perfect.  
140\. Bridesmaid.  
141\. Imperfect.  
142\. Bare branches.  
143\. Pale.  
144\. Wolfish grin.  
145\. I owe you.  
146\. Stockholm syndrome.  
147\. She won't say it.  
148\. Russian roulette.  
149\. Sandpaper.  
150\. Dried flowers.  
151\. Learning French.  
152\. Actress.  
153\. Strawberries.  
154\. Tattered notebook.  
155\. Numb.  
156\. Smell the roses.  
157\. Summer hazes.  
158\. Loose necktie.  
159\. Amber.  
160\. All that glitters.  
161\. Pixel.  
162\. Justice.  
163\. Apathy.  
164\. Clueless.  
165\. The cat and the king.  
166\. Grudge.  
167\. All dolled up.  
168\. Decadence.  
169\. Blush.  
170\. Relief.  
171\. Too easy.  
172\. Walking.  
173\. Healing.  
174\. Stitches.  
175\. Board games.  
176\. Then, I changed.  
177\. Floppy-eared puppy.  
178\. Without capital letters.  
179\. Matchstick heart.  
180\. She found me in the bookstore.  
181\. Innocent.  
182\. Suddenly, I can't paint.  
183\. Write to me.  
184\. Caffeine.  
185\. Reality leaves a horrible taste sometimes.  
186\. Your rumpled sheets.  
187\. One foot in the water.  
188\. A string of words with no meaning.  
189\. I just pretend to be profound.  
190\. The darkening sky saw him die.  
191\. Just close your eyes.  
192\. Cross your toes.  
193\. Almost.  
194\. Message in a bottle.  
195\. He can't rhyme.  
196\. Morphine.  
197\. Plastic chairs.  
198\. Plasticine.  
199\. Wild.  
200\. Fahrenheit.  
201\. Odd numbers.  
202\. She used to be me.  
203\. Kitten heels.  
204\. Seashells.  
205\. Fighter/fighting.  
206\. How long is a piece of string?  
207\. Because I wanted you to be.  
208\. I lit a candle for you.  
209\. After all this time?  
210\. Cheshire cat.  
211\. Phoenix risen.  
212\. Watercolour paints.  
213\. PVA glue.  
214\. Newspaper.  
215\. Daffodil.  
216\. Woken up early.  
217\. Arms outstretched.  
218\. Flash a smile.  
219\. He has a new camera.  
220\. Ladybirds.  
221\. The other side.  
222\. Through a gap in the fence.  
223\. Fairground.  
224\. A thousand memories.  
225\. Samhain.  
226\. Pendulum.  
227\. Weaver.  
228\. Dangly earrings.  
229\. Soundproof.  
230\. Skeletons in the closet.  
231\. When the universe ends.  
232\. Keeling on the sky.  
233\. Writing in the sand.  
234\. You are my music.  
235\. Breaking the law.  
236\. Second-best.  
237\. Pewter.  
238\. Cousin.  
239\. Moss.  
240\. Nightingale.  
241\. Bubblegum.  
242\. Silk scarf.  
243\. Arms crossed.  
244\. Prologue.  
245\. Epilogue.  
246\. Bully.  
247\. Comical.  
248\. One more step and you'll fall.  
249\. I dare you.  
250\. Bricks.  
251\. Soprano.  
252\. Epidemic.  
253\. Costume party.  
254\. I still can't play the guitar.  
255\. We're all made of stardust.  
256\. Queen of Hearts.  
257\. Even you.  
258\. The sun always comes up without fail.  
259\. Mischief managed.  
260\. Dancers.  
261\. He was a fan of classical music.  
262\. A little dance, a little romance, that's how she rolls.  
263\. She doesn't like music, she likes the noise on the radio.  
264\. Hero.  
265\. Opheliac.  
266\. Strange accent.  
267\. An explosion of adrenaline.  
268\. Like a moth to a flame.  
269\. Blurry.  
270\. The glasses shattered.  
271\. Colgate toothpaste.  
272\. Aftermath.  
273\. Marry in May and rue the day.  
274\. Wheat fields.  
275\. Citrus.  
276\. Gone with the wind.  
277\. Breathe again.  
278\. Hypocrite.  
279\. Backstabber.  
280\. Belladonna. (The deadly nightshade.)  
281\. Whatever you want to believe, dear.  
282\. A dance with the devil.  
283\. New Year's resolution.  
284\. Roses are red and violets are blue.  
285\. Aspartame.  
286\. Artificial sweeteners to quiet me down.  
287\. Lacrimosa. (A Latin word, meaning 'weeping'.)  
288\. She overuses punctuation.  
289\. Lantern.  
290\. Hypochondriac.  
291\. Starting over and over.  
292\. Break a leg.  
293\. Ace of spades.  
294\. Guitarist.  
295\. White contact lenses.  
296\. They kept their promises.  
297\. Finch.  
298\. Little owl.  
299\. Famous warrior.  
300\. Live fast and die young.  
301\. I thought she was a painting at first.  
302\. We wasted time throwing rocks at the stars.  
303\. Windchimes.   
304\. Interlaced fingers.  
305\. Just look down.  
306\. Don't even blink.  
307\. Doesn't even recognize her own poetry.  
308\. If rivers could speak.  
309\. I wish I'd tried harder.  
310\. That little envelope.  
311\. Watch you don't trip.  
312\. Congratulations.  
313\. Just be yourself.  
314\. He lit up another cigarette.  
315\. Fumes at the back of your throat.  
316\. Six strings.  
317\. Butterflies on her arms.  
318\. The little death.  
319\. Wayward.  
320\. Shaved eyebrows.  
321\. Ugly.  
322\. Spine of a book.  
323\. Aspirin.  
324\. Shake on it.  
325\. Pink cheeks.  
326\. Gap tooth.  
327\. Eating disorder.  
328\. Running his hands down her hipbones.  
329\. Wash your face.  
330\. When you say nothing at all.  
331\. Click of your fingers.  
332\. Dolls are empty, you see.  
333\. The sky is dancing.  
334\. Asteroid belt.  
335\. If I'd just told her…  
336\. It was still Sunday.  
337\. Casino lights and too much lipstick.  
338\. Endlessly, she said.  
339\. Kiss and control.  
340\. A brand new name.  
341\. Too shy to scream.  
342\. Darling, I want to destroy you.  
343\. God called in sick today.  
344\. Girl's not grey.  
345\. A lunatic's lament.  
346\. Hymn for the shameless.  
347\. Thespian.  
348\. The owl's wings fluttered.  
349\. It sounded like a good idea at the time.  
350\. Hand in hand with the damned.  
351\. Mice and masquerades.  
352\. Sweetheart, you are sadly mistaken.  
353\. This is what a 'tragedy' feels like.  
354\. Obsession is such an ugly word.  
355\. As you wish.  
356\. Endings without stories.  
357\. Runs in the family.  
358\. Drink drank punk.  
359\. Diamond eyes.  
360\. Rocket skates.  
361\. Louder than thunder.  
362\. I still lost.  
363\. Coin-operated boy.  
364\. How strange…  
365\. Misery loves company.  
366\. Dead is the new alive.  
367\. I know where you sleep.  
368\. Thank God I'm pretty.  
369\. Fight like a girl!  
370\. Tea parties fix everything.  
371\. A sketch in black and white.  
372\. Young blood spills tonight.  
373\. Race with the devil.  
374\. Somebody that I used to know.  
375\. Boulevard of broken dreams.  
376\. Welcome to the jungle.  
377\. Don't put your red dress on for him.  
378\. There's no man alive that I can't destroy.  
379\. Can I play with madness?  
380\. I predict a riot.  
381\. The bright side.  
382\. Heaven's a lie.  
383\. Our truth.  
384\. Enjoy the silence.  
385\. Norwegian lovesong.  
386\. Stand up and admit it.  
387\. Falling away with you.  
388\. Butterflies and hurricanes.  
389\. Souls that would die just to feel alive.  
390\. This is how I disappear.  
391\. Skylines and turnstiles.  
392\. Look alive, sunshine…  
393\. The poet and the pendulum.  
394\. Bye, beautiful.  
395\. Amaranthine.  
396\. Turn loose the mermaids.  
397\. The man who sold the world.  
398\. I write sins, not tragedies.  
399\. Haven't you figured it out, yet?  
400\. I almost told you that I loved you.  
401\. Ignorance is your new best friend.  
402\. Dancing with a liar.  
403\. Let the flames begin.  
404\. For a pessimist, I'm pretty optimistic.  
405\. Comfortably numb.  
406\. Don't mess with me!  
407\. Illusion and dreams.  
408\. Sleep, sweetie.  
409\. They're locking up the sun, the light of reason gone.  
410\. My mind is a box.  
411\. But when you look with the heart, she is wonderful.  
412\. Where are the children?  
413\. Fire at will!  
414\. No angel climbs down.  
415\. Don't die before I do.  
416\. I love you, whore!  
417\. Fire and water.  
418\. God knows I don't want to be an angel.  
419\. Blitzkrieg bop.  
420\. I wanna be sedated.  
421\. A walk through hell.  
422\. I want to know your plans.  
423\. Peek-a-boo.  
424\. I must confess that I feel like a monster.  
425\. Clockwork vaudeville.  
426\. Electricity is in my soul.  
427\. Because seven is my number.  
428\. Better you run.  
429\. How soon is now?  
430\. Roses in the devil's garden.  
431\. Down from the sky.  
432\. Fairytale of New York.  
433\. Ex lover's lover.  
434\. It's so easy when you're evil.  
435\. Hell in a handbasket.  
436. Drapetomania. (The overwhelming urge to run away.)  
437\. Wanderlust.  
438. She dreamed of paradise.  
439. When you were young...  
440\. Secret love, are you there?  
441\. Shooting stars could never be this bright.  
442\. Sleeping softly while I sing.  
443\. No light, no light in your bright blue eyes.  
444\. It kind of hurts when the end of words you write kind of turn themselves into knives.  
445\. Cogito, ergo sum. (I think, therefore I am.)  
446\. A cup of galaxy.  
447\. It's all roses from here.  
448\. A tree falls.  
449\. When time fades away.  
450\. Summer's flame.  
451\. In Odin's court.  
452\. By the sword of my father.  
453\. Seven devils all around.  
454\. Everything remains as it never was.  
455\. Tribe.  
456\. Proud, kingly.

 

*Disclaimer: I am not the creator of this list. I found it somewhere on DeviantArt, but I lost the original link. Credit goes to the original creator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just the list. The first drabble will be up in a bit.


	2. 1. Violin (Or violinist)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touko forces Touya and N to attend a concert together in Nimbasa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: N is a very logical, mathematical thinker, and Touya is a very creative, artistic thinker. Because of this, they genuinely struggle to understand each other's thought process.
> 
> Also, Touko is pushy as hell.

Touya had no idea why Touko thought this would be a good idea. Like, a violin concert? Really? It's not even remotely romantic (which was Touko's underlying motive, he's sure), as far as Touya's concerned. Neither he or N have any particular interest in music—N thinks in numbers and math, and Touya thinks in words and pictures. Music is nice to listen to, sure, but it doesn't quite appeal to either of them on a deeper level.

But it was Touko's idea, so they're here anyway.

The lights dim and N jumps, eyes growing round. "Why is it getting dark?"

Touya keeps forgetting how much of the world is new to N, how the simple things that makes sense to him don't to N, how many things he takes for granted. "It's so we can focus on the stage."

N blinks at him. "What?"

"They're gonna light up the stage," Touya whispers. "Just watch."

Sure enough, the heavy velvet curtains peel back and spotlights flood the stage. Touya should thank his sister for the seats, he thinks as the skinny violinist takes the stage, because they really are excellent. They're not too close so as to have to crane their necks and the lights are blinding, and not too far that they have to squint.

Then the violinist starts to play and Touya doesn't think anymore.

It's beautiful. The violinist is this skinny woman with a bun wound so tight her eyes look like they're going to pop out of her skull and her mouth looks like she's been sucking on too many lemons, but her fingers are long and elegant and the music that spills from the strings ebbs and undulates like the sea, flowing like a river and crashing like a waterfall. It eddies and swirls all around the theater, and Touya is transfixed.

Somehow, Touya finds the willpower to tear his eyes off the violinist and glance at N. He looks amazed, his face slack with a childlike sort of wonder that Touya has come to adore so much.

Ahem.

Touya notices N's fingers twitching idly, tapping lightly on his knee. "How does she do that?" N murmurs.

"She's playing from sheet music," Touya whispers back.

"It's elegant," N says breathily, and Touya fights a shiver. "And incredibly precise... almost like an equation, but put to sound."

"Sorta?" Touya isn't a math person. N hears meticulously organized notes, but Touya just hears the melody, the way it pulses and echoes and just how beautiful it is. Maybe it means something else to N, though, just like it means something else to him.

"How does it work, do you think?" N asks.

Touya turns to him in surprise. "You want to learn how to play the violin?"

He briefly envisioned N playing a violin, the wooden body resting delicately between his shoulder and chin, delicate fingers perched around a long bow, a gorgeous melody pouring out from the strings—and, oh, that's not a bad image, actually.

But N looks away huffily. "Of course not. I merely displayed interest in the subject. There is a rather significant difference between displaying interest in a subject and displaying interest in  _learning_  the subject."

"Okay."

N frowns at him. "I mean it."

"I believe you," Touya says, and then someone from the audience shushes them.

N looks sort of nice in the half-light, Touya thinks as the concert goes on. The glow of the spotlight highlights to planes of his face, his cheekbones and his long lashes and full lips. N's really pretty—but friends didn't think of each other that way, and they haven't seen each other in three years, and they've been spending the last couple weeks catching up, and Touya needs to stop staring.

It ends far too abruptly. The lights come back on and Touya looks away, flushing.

He has no idea why Touko thought this was a good idea. It amounted to basically nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*coughcough*IsshuShipping*coughcough*_  
>   
> 
> I swear to god this ship will be the end of me.


	3. 2. Insomniac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> N and Touya talk about sleeping habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Because city policy don't technically have any jurisdiction on Routes, a lot of criminals will flee into the wilderness to avoid prosecution. It's heavily advised that traveling Trainers exercise extreme caution and spend the night in the rest centers that dot the Routes. If they do plan to camp, most Trainers will have one of their Pokemon keep watch for the night.
> 
> Trainers with tendencies to stress and anxiety can develop bad sleeping habits as a result.

"Are you still awake?"

Touya sips his cup and doesn't look up.

N crosses the distance and pulls a chair out, sitting down next to him. The kitchen of Touko's apartment in Castelia is bright white, so it sort of glows even when the lights are off like they are and it's the dead of night like it is. N has been staying here for the last few months after he returned to Unova (Touko and her bleeding heart hiding under her hard exterior), and she offered Touya to stay after he came back, too. It's been a little weird, staying in the same household (do apartments count as households?) as N, but, hey, he's been gone for three years and worried Touko half to death in first place, so he can indulge her wanting him as close as possible. She's his sister, after all.

It's half-passed midnight, three weeks after he's come back, and he's clutching a mug of warm milk because he hasn't been able to catch a decent night's sleep since (traveling has a way of making you a light sleeper, always having to be on alert for overly aggressive wild Pokemon and wandering criminals and the like).

"I'm fine," Touya says. The mug is warm against his hands.

N stares at him. Touya looks down at the hardwood table.

"...what is that?" N asks.

 _Thank god_ , Touya thinks. It appears that three years has taught N some form of tact, for which he is extremely grateful. "Uh, warm milk."

"Why?"

"It helps you sleep."

"Does it really?" N sounds fascinated.

"Sort of?" Touya taps the rim of the mug with his finger. "It works, like, half the time."

"Why don't you just take melatonin?" N asks.

Touya looks up at him. "M-Mela-what what?"

"Melatonin," N says. "It's a hormone that's released before sleep and is responsible for making you drowsy. You can take doses of it to help you fall asleep."

Touya looks back at the mug. It's half empty. Or is it half full? "I'm not taking drugs, N."

"It's a  _hormone_ ," N corrects him, "and proven to help with insomnia."

"I don't have—"

N stares at him.

Touya's hands tighten around the mug. "I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"Yes." Touya lifts the mug up to his lips and takes another sip.

"So you're not having nightmares?" N asks skeptically.

Touya chokes on warm milk and slams the mug down with an audible  _clink_ of ceramic against hardwood, coughing. "N-No! W-Why would you—"

"Because I used to have nightmares," N says—it's a thing you don't really admit to people, but N says it so matter-of-factly, you'd think he was talking about the weather. It's simple, it's innocent, and it's enough to make Touya stare at him in wonder. "I'm just worried is all."

"I'm fine," Touya mutters. He brings the mug back up to his face to hide his blush. "No nightmares."

N's eyes search Touya's face, and Touya's lip twitches. N sighs and stands.

"Hero of Truth indeed," N mutters and retreats back into the hall, leaving Touya alone in the dark with his sleepless thoughts.

Touya is a terrible liar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to clarify, it's been about a year after the events of BW2 (specifically the Kyurem event), so it's been three years since the events of BW.


	4. 3. Paper aeroplane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touko and Touya talk while making paper aeroplanes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touko is Touya's older sister by four years. She left on a journey long before he did. By the time he set out, alongside Bianca and Cheren, she'd started working at the Battle Subway. She took a job at the Battle Company during the events of BW2, though.

"Why are we making these?" Touya mutters as he makes another fold and creates a wing.

"Because I can't do origami," Touko answers smoothly. She finishes folding another aeroplane and tosses it into the pile accumulating on the kitchen counter.

"What?"

"My coworker's daughter is having a birthday party, so I offered to help with the decorations. She likes Flying-Types and flying and basically everything above the ground. I can't do birds, so. Planes."

"Is this the coworker you have a crush on?" It's still a baffling thought, wild and fiery Touko settling down at the Battle Company, now twenty-three and managing a desk job. It's one of those things that don't compute, like seeing a unicorn, or quantum physics.

Touko purses her lips and starts on a new aeroplane. "Maybe."

"Uh huh." Touya finishes the aeroplane he's working on and passes it to Touko. She tosses it into the pile. "Shouldn't you consider going after someone more your age? I mean, this guy's, like, what? Five years older than you?"

Touko scowls at him. "Screw you."

"Just sayin'."

"He's  _sweet_ ," Touko says defensively.

"He's raising his kid on his own."

"Which proves he's responsible," Touko snaps. "At least he didn't run off on a mythical dragon and evade law enforcement for three years."

Touya stops. Stares at her. "How the hell did we get to talking about N?"

"We were talking about crushes," Touko says with a shrug.

Touya blushes, his grip on the half-built plane in his hand tightening, causing the paper to crinkle. Touko lets out a yelp of alarm and snatches it out of his hands, straightening it out desperately.

"I. What. You," Touya stammers helplessly, still stunned. "I don't have a crush on N!"

"Right." Unable to correct the damage, she throws the plane in frustration. It skitters across the counter before falling off the edge. She sighs. "You just stare at him 'cause you like the view."

His face burns. "I-I don't s-stare!"

She grabs another piece of paper and starts folding. "Sure you don't."

"I don't!"

"Grow up, bro."

Touya swallows a retort. Grow up, bro, she says. It's still hard to believe that he'll be nineteen soon, that it'll be three years since he ended his Pokemon journey, four years since he started it on his fifteenth birthday. So much has happened. So much has changed. The years have flown by like a hurricane.

_Grow up, huh?_

He doesn't really want to.

"I don't have a... a  _crush_  on him." Touya reaches for another piece of paper.

"So you just left Unova for three years to go sightseeing?" Touko quips, incredulous. She finishes shaping the left wing, and moves onto the right. "C'mon. We all know you left to find him."

"There were other reasons..." Like looking for Ghetsis, for example. Challenging other Leagues. Pursuing his dream, like N said.

No, wait.

Just, pursuing his dream.

Touko flicks a plane into the pile. "Whatever, bro. It's your life. If you wanna live in denial, that's on you."

"I'm not in denial, but thanks for the sentiment."

They lapse into silence.

Touya finishes his plane and adds it to the pile, then eyes them all—twenty-five or so near-identical paper aeroplanes. "You hate planes," Touya mutters. "You get airsick."

"But I like this guy," Touko says, "so I make compromises."

 _What the hell?_  Touya thinks sullenly.  _They're not even together._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if I should tag this thing with Touko/OC or something.


	5. 4. Dandelion seed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dandelions and IsshuShipping fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: If you've read my Nuzlocke, you'll know that I headcannon Kalos as having a culture centered around flowers and botany.

"Why do you think people blow on dandelion seeds?" N asks, twirling a seeding dandelion in his hands.

They're in Castelia Central Park. Rosa told N about this place, and he wanted to visit. Touya offered to go with him. And, yeah, that's basically it. But, weirder things have happened (ahem, Reshiram and Zekrom and Plasma escapades), so. There's no bench, so they're sitting on the ground. The grass is peppered with dandelions is various states of bloom and seeding, bright yellow and lacy white against a vibrant shade of green that you usually only find  _outside_  the city.

Touya shrugs, sitting under the shade of the great oak growing in the center of the park. Sunlight streams through the leaves, warm and golden and summery. "'Cause you can make wishes on 'em."

N sits next to him, so close their shoulders brush. He turns the wishing flower slowly, appraisingly. "But why, though?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you make wishes on  _dandelions_  of all things?" N's shoulder brushes Touya's, briefly, warm and solid. "Why a weed?"

Touya leans back against the solidness of the tree trunk, a warm, fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach. "It could have something to with this thing I heard about in Kalos."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, uh." Touya's having trouble thinking, for some reason. "'Language of flowers' or something. Anyway, dandelions are supposed to be, like, symbolic for overcoming and stuff. Y'know, hardiness, endurance, survival. Continuing to grow despite being uprooted over and over again—as long as one little bit of the dandelion root remains, the whole plant can regrow."

"Really?" N asks, to which Touya nods absently. "Interesting."

"Yup. Basically the flower-version of a cockroach."

N cracks a smile that makes Touya smile in turn. "It helps spread seeds, at the very least. Makes for more dandelions."

"Some people would say that's a bad thing," Touya says.

"Not if you believe in these wishing flowers," N answers with a light laugh.

Touya decides he likes the sound of N laughing. N never really laughed three years ago, wasn't this relaxed three years ago. So much about him has changed, Touya realizes. This N is worldlier, more tactful, less severe, more relaxed and at ease. There's no trace of a higher purpose or an endgame, or myths and legends and plans to resurrect ancient Dragons. N looks... content, almost, in a sleepy, lethargic sort of way.

Touya exhales. He wonders how  _he's_  changed.

"I also heard that they're edible," Touya says idly. "Like, they're bitter, but they're good for you, apparently. You can, like, make tea out of the roots."

N hums thoughtfully.

Touya glances at him. "What?"

"Nothing."

"...you're not thinking of trying it, are you?"

"Maybe," N admits.

Touya rolls his eyes. "I'd stick to blowing on them, N."

N huffs and sits up a little. His shoulder brushes Touya's—for some reason, Touya is hyperaware of the touch—and blows on the seeding dandelion. A cloud of seeds bursts into the air and scatters, a flurry of little white puffs.

Touya watches idly as they drift away into the blue sky. "What'd you wish for?"

"Oh." N looks embarrassed. "I... forgot."

"Just get another."

"...no. That's fine." N slumps back against the trunk. "You can't count on things like dandelions to make your wishes come true. No matter how resilient."

"True," Touya says. "True."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such fluff, I can't even.
> 
> (I can't believe I did research on the meaning of dandelions for this)


	6. 5. Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea, okay? Some of these prompts are really random.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise double update!
> 
> Headcannon: Pretty Wings are actually just loose feathers from the wing of bird Pokemon. Flight feathers.

"You've got a feather in your hair."

"Huh?" Touya looks up from where he was grooming his Braviary. Touko's standing in the doorway, dressed in a collared shirt, dull grey jacket, and pencil skirt, her hair in a bun. Work clothes. God.

"Feather. In your hair." She points to her own hair.

He feels his hair and, oh, yup, that's a Pretty Wing. Only, navy blue instead of the usual bright white that comes from Swanna, but it looks the same, y'know? He pulls it out and sets it aside on the coffee table, then goes back to brushing his Braviary, who screes happily at the attention.

"Please tell me that thing's not going to molt all over my apartment." Touko drops a bag of presumably groceries on the counter.

"I thought you liked Raphael."

"Of course I like Raphael. I  _don't_  like his feathers." Touko crosses her arms. "Especially if they get on my couch."

Raphael screes indignantly.

"Why are you even grooming him?"

Touya runs his fingers over Raphael's back. His feathers are really gorgeous, brightly colored and smooth. "Skyla says—"

"Here we go," Touko mutters with an eye roll.

"—that bird Pokemon need to be groomed weekly," Touya continues, ignoring her. "To get all the gunk out of their feathers and shed the loose ones."

"I'm pretty sure that only applies to birds that have been battling recently," Touko retorts. "And do you have to do it on my couch? Like, go do that in the park. Hell, go outside and _battle_ someone for crying out loud!"

Raphael lets out a cry, as if in agreement. Traitor.

Touya purses his lips and says nothing.

"You've been holed up in here for way too long," Touko goes on, making a shooing motion with her hands. "Go. Outside. Get some sun."

"I went to the park with N, recently," he points out.

"Yeah. Five days ago."

"What's wrong with that?"

Touko stares at him for a moment before shaking her head. "I'm not going to enable your shut-in behavior. Either go outside or I'm kicking you out."

She won't, he knows. She's softer than she lets on.

He rubs Raphael's head and doesn't look at her. "I thought the whole reason you wanted me here was to spend time with me. But if you want me to leave, I'll leave."

"I didn't say  _leave_." Touko sounds frustrated, now. "Just—ugh! Fine. Whatever."

Her heels clack down the hall.

He still can't get over the fact that she's wearing heels. She used to say she'd never be caught dead in those foot-manglers (her words).

Raphael screes, and the living room falls silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Touya's team is as follows:  
> \--Percival, male Serperior  
> \--Lacey, female Zebstrika  
> \--Merle, male Carracosta  
> \--Emilia, female Gothitelle  
> \--Brienne, female Escavalier*  
> \--Raphael, male Braviary*  
> \--Reshiram**
> 
> *Originally belong to Touko, traded to Touya  
> **Not an official member of the team, but subbed in occasionally


	7. 6. She sings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touya visits Accumula Town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Accumula Town's patron god/deity is Meloetta.

They're having Bianca's birthday at her place, so Touya's made the trip on Raphael's back. Touko's already there, setting up decorations so they can surprise Bi when she gets home from work (as Juniper's _personal_  assistant, dayum), and Cheren is even taking the day off from the Gym to attend.

Oh, yeah. Cheren's a Gym Leader, now, apparently.

The Fly here was quicker than normal, so Touya wanders around a bit. Bianca lives in Accumula, now, and being here invokes a flood of nostalgia, reminds him of back when he was a young, naive Trainer, just-turned fifteen and so, so painfully oblivious of what was stirring in the region back then. It looks almost the same as Touya remembers—the same white buildings and white roads, the same park where Plasma first made their grand debut.

For some reason, Touya expects there to be a bewildered crowd and Plasma Grunts to be standing primly atop a wooden stage, but instead, there's a white piano and a girl that he vaguely recognizes. He suddenly recalls that night he spent at the Accumula Center all those years ago, pondering the words of the strange man with a monocle and eye-patterned robes (and the other man with long hair and a clipped voice and a gaze that could pierce just about anything), and then the music in the Center overhead changed to a beautiful piano tune. After it had ended, everyone (excluding the traveling Trainers like himself who were pleasantly bemused) had stood and clapped, and a young girl of maybe twelve had stood and bowed, rather sheepish at all the attention. He later learned from a nurse that, to his amazement, that young girl was the composer.

It's that same girl, only she's grown up quite a bit. She holds herself with more confidence, more poise, and she seems at home as she runs her fingers over the keyboard. There's a throng gathering around her, and Touya realizes with a jolt, as she begins to play in a beautiful, lilting fashion, that it's a concert.

He lingers, but doesn't approach, nor does he leave. That girl was mousy—now she looks elegant. She looks  _different_. Touya can't get over it.

He was honestly still expecting a dispersing crowd, muttering about the curious ensemble in strange clothing and their puzzling message (which doesn't make sense, Plasma is dead and buried, and will stay that way if Touya has anything to say about it). Instead, there's this girl with amazing talent and—

And he notices the microphone just a moment before she opens her mouth.

She sings.

She was too shy, too mousy and demure, to sing, or even think to (at least, that's the vibe Touya got from her, all those years ago), and now, her voice rings clear and loud and lovely.

Touya stares without meaning to, until he gets a text from Touko asking him where he is, what's taking him so long, Cheren's here and he better get here quickly, Bianca will be off work soon and they all have to be there to surprise her.

Right. Bianca's party.

She's working under Juniper now, having left the profession of training behind her. Cheren hasn't left it, but now he's a Gym Leader, a pillar in the League. Touko's joined the Battle Company, dividing her time between battling upcoming Trainers and working to improve battle facilities like the Subway.

And the girl who plays piano—she sings.

Touya ducks out of the crowd and makes his way down the street, following the directions Touko gave him. At least the streets haven't changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to put here. Just, stuff. Some of these prompts are sort of difficult to work with.


	8. 7. Dragonfly toes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bianca and Iris reconnect over painting nails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: As time went on, Iris grew out of her tomboy-phase and is trying out girly things like dresses and makeup.
> 
> Oh, and Caitlin's gotten a gradually less snobbish since she joined the Elite Four.

Iris isn't overly fond of Caitlin's Villa, or Undella in general. Caitlin makes for great company, and the vista is drop-dead  _gorgeous_ , but the inhabitants are mostly old rich white people with a mild racism that strains their smiles when they look at her—because she's Champion and deserving of some respect, but they're still racist sonovabitches to the very end. That might have changed, had Rosa not turned down the title, but it didn't, and hasn't, and Iris is still always hesitant to accept Caitlin's invitations to the villa.

A long time ago, that might have been enough to make Caitlin pout for days, but the Psychic Elite has grown more mature over the years, and now she never forces Iris into anything. And right now, Iris doesn't want to be here, because she's been feeling kinda self-conscious all week (blame it on the tabloids) and doesn't want to be judged by strangers too. Caitlin even said she didn't have to come, if she didn't want to.

But Caitlin invited Bianca this time (much to Iris's bafflement), and Iris knows how Caitlyn can be to newbies in her little circle of tea and biscuits, so she's joined them.

Weirdly, Caitlin doesn't grill Bianca the way she did with Roxie ("So what made you decide to form a  _rock_  band, specifically, and not a band of another genre?") or Skyla ("I didn't realize Pilots wore such short shorts! I can only imagine how the men look!"), and Iris finds that really suspicious.

"I like your toes, Iris," Caitlin says as she collects plates that were once home to chiffon cake and scones. Bianca rises to help her, but Caitlin holds up her hand in an  _I got it_  gesture. A far cry from the spoiler princess she used to be.

Iris flexes her toes. She's wearing sandals and a summer frock. Traditional beach attire, the sort of stuff she only wore for Caitlin's benefit (who knew that a house could have a dress code?), but you can see the dragonfly stenciling she'd put on her toes. They're metallic silver, and Iris decided to try them out because A) dragonflies are cool and Yanmega should  _totally_  be a Dragon, and B) Iris wanted to experiment with little things like nail polish and makeup, things that Drayden usually said weren't important to her training.

Her training's finished, though, so.

"Thanks," Iris says sheepishly. She did it herself—bought a stencil and some polish and watched a how-to video on YouTube. She thinks they turned out a little sloppy, though.

"Oooh! They look so nice!" Bianca gushes, and Iris  _does not_  blush.

"A-Again, thanks." Iris is not used to being girly. She's used to running wild and wrestling with Dragons, to letting her hair tangle and her clothes getting ripped and really not caring what other people think about her appearance. But this is an experimentation into the world of feminism, into the world of maturity and adulthood and womanhood, and it's really, really weird, with a distinct set of tripwires and pitfalls. Forget the celebrity status of being Champion, this is impossible as it is.

"I've been dying to try that," Bianca goes on. "The whole stencil-nail thing, I mean. My dad always said it was the sort of thing that was done by girls of—and I quote—'loose morals'."

Iris snorts. She has very high morals, thank you.

"But I've always wanted to get it done anyway," says Bianca as Caitlin returns with more biscuits and a fresh pot of tea.

"Maybe I'll show you sometime," Iris says with a laugh.

"Why not now?" Caitlin asks with a coy smile that immediately maked Iris tense. "I've got some polish around here somewhere, I'm sure. And there's a hairdryer upstairs."

"That sounds great!" Bianca squeals, and Iris is about to protest, but Bianca's eyes light up so brightly.

And that's how Iris ended up doing Bianca's nails (and not her toenails), brushing liquid lavender onto the tips of Bianca's fingers.

They're sitting awfully close.

"I'm sorry that Caitlin doesn't have any stencils," Iris says.

"It's fine." Bianca waves her free hand dismissively. "I love this color, though."

"Yeah?"

Bianca nods. "Purple's my favorite color."

Iris accidentally gets polish all over Bianca's cuticles.

"Sorry!" Iris yelps.

"It's okay, it's okay." Bianca fans her smudged nail. "I'll just clean it off once it's dried."

Iris flushes, ashamed, and screws the cap back onto the nail polish.

Bianca appraises her sullied nails. "...do you remember when we met?"

Iris startles at the question. She flashes back to, like, three years ago, when she had been invited to Burgh's new gallery, and had ended up going for a late night walk, only to witness a poor, klutzy blonde getting mugged in an alleyway. She'd ended up dragging the unconscious woman to the pier after fending off the attacker and calling Burgh. She remembers how Burgh and Touya had shown up, how she ended up helping Bianca train and acted as her "bodyguard" for the remainder of her stay in Castelia.

"Course I remember," Iris says, cracking a smile. She leans back on her hunches. "We kinda lost touch somewhere after Driftveil, though, after Plasma started escalating."

And then Bianca became a researcher, and Iris became Champion, and Touya bolted, and Unova began to change.

Bianca's glasses wink in the sunlight. "We should hang out more—reconnect."

"Sounds good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this only sorta shipping them and now I fully ship them.


	9. 8. A stolen ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen at the Plasma halfway house in Driftveil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Rosa is demisexual.

Rosa doesn't want to accuse the reformed Plasma Grunts of anything, but she swears to god she left her demisexual pride ring in the bathroom and now it's gone.

She visits the Plasma halfway house often—not to check-in or anything because she suspects them of doing anything illegal, but because she's on good terms with quite a few of the former Grunts and they make surprisingly good company. Nothing against Hugh or Nate or anything, but sometimes she needs a little girl-time. Anthea and Concordia, by virtue of being both female and older, make for conversation that doesn't center around battling, sports, or the Subway. Rosa's actually come to think of them as role-models, almost, and Rood reminds her of her grandfather, kindly in a way only an elder can be. Y'know, before her grandpa passed.

She was just using the bathroom. She'd just slipped her ring off for a minute to wash her hands and accidentally forgot it there. When she'd noticed it was gone, she excused herself to retrieve it, only to find it missing.

Unbidden, she remembers another girl slipping into the bathroom just as Rosa had been coming out and she bites her lip.

"What's wrong?" Anthea asks as Rosa returns.

"My ring is gone," Rosa says.

Anthea exchanges a look with Concordia, then turns back to Rosa. "We'll help you look."

They turn the bathroom upside down and even try to look down the pipes in case the ring got knocked in. The commotion spurs the other inhabitants of the halfway house, and before long everyone is looking. After an hour, Rosa is absolutely distraught.

The ring itself isn't valuable. It's dirt-cheap, but it's also hard to find. There's not a lot of stores that sell LBTQ merch, and it was a gift from Hugh, too. She can still remember how he lured her up to the Outlook and presented it to her in a fashion that quite resembled a proposal, dork that he was. He'd said something sappy like  _I accept you for who you are_ , _consider this a contract of support_  or whatever. And it had meant so much because she'd just come out, and she swore to god that she'd  _hugged_  him, and told him she loved him (in a totally platonic way, mind you, yes, a totally platonic and best friend sort of way).

The point is, the intrinsic value makes it irreplaceable.

After about an hour of looking, a few ex-Grunts arrive, having apparently been on a grocery run—one of them was the girl that Rosa had passed in the bathroom. The girl explained that she'd found Rosa's ring and had intended to return it immediately, but she'd gotten a text from her associates (apparently, the still-suspicious police had pulled them over for a busted tail-light) and had needed to rush over there immediately to pay bail.

She drops the ring in Rosa's palm with a reverent apology, and Rosa's fingers curl around the little plastic trinket.

"It's fine," Rosa says with a relieved smile, because it is. She has her ring back, and that's all that matters. "Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know what demisexual means, it's a type of sexual orientation that exists on the asexual spectrum. "Demi" means "half". Basically, it means that someone can only have sexual or romantic feelings for someone they already have a strong emotional bond with. It's not that they're being a prude or stuck-up. It's because they physically cannot feel those things with someone they don't trust or aren't comfortable with. Ie, they can't have one-night stands.


	10. 9. Broken wristwatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheren gets annoyed with his wristwatch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Cheren is a stickler for punctuality and can't stand being late.

Cheren taps at his wristwatch and curses internally. Yup, he's not imagining it. The minute hand is stuck.

What a bother.

One of the things Cheren had learned early on in his career as a Gym Leader was that punctuality counted, and a Gym needed to run like clockwork. Every day, all the time, no matter what. And the Gym's battle field doesn't have a clock anywhere in sight.

A broken wristwatch? Talk about a wrench in the plans.

Cheren grumbles and starts to take it off. If it's just a battery problem, then it's easily solved. If it's something internal... well, then, problem.

This is so not what he needs right now.

As he tinkers with his (embarrassingly expensive) wristwatch (it was a gift from Bianca, alright? get off his case), there's a rapping at the door of his office. Cheren exhales heavily through his nostrils and hopes to god it's just an issue involving the Trainer Academy (which he is subbing at in his free-time) and not something with the Gym, god forbid.

"Yes?" Cheren calls, setting the wristwatch down on his desk. The door squeaks open, tentatively, and he almost groans when one of his Gym Trainers pops their head in.

"Uh, Mister Cheren, sir?"

"A challenger?" Cheren asks. He knows he has one scheduled for two-fifteen, and it's two-ten (he thinks so? his watch is now officially confirmed as broken, so).

The boy—Pedro, Cheren remembers—looks nervous. "Um. No, sir."

Cheren straightens a little, frowning. "Please tell me the system didn't crash again."

That happened once—the power went out during one particularly nasty storm, the kind that only happened either seaside or in the mountains. The computers were rebooted and almost everything was lost. It was a nightmare.

Pedro winces. "No, sir."

"...a problem with the Gym Pokemon?" Cheren has to keep several teams in order to accommodate challengers with a different number of badges. Those teams vary in number and strength, and altogether, it's about twenty Pokemon. They can be a handful and Cheren often has to rely on the Gym staff for assistance.

"No sir."

"Then  _what_?" Cheren snaps. "What is so  _important_?"

The door swings open, and—and there stands a  _fucking ghost_ , one that Cheren hasn't seen in almost three years now, with threadbare clothes that look like they've seen better days and dull eyes and a faded cap that's no longer the bright red that Cheren remembers.

Touya flashes a lackadaisical smile and steps forward a little, just to prove he's real. "What's a-matter, Cher? Ain't happy to see me?"

It definitely sounds like Touya, looks like Touya—but this Touya is more haggard, worldly, (burdened?) and exhausted, like he's spent the last three years doing everything but taking care of himself. There's dark shadows under his eyes and his face isn't the right complexion of healthy, too pale. And there's something strange about the way he talks, now. An accent he's picked up (from traveling the world, looking for N, doing Hero-of-Truth shit) that makes Cheren's brain stutter, makes the image not compute.

Touya regards him, and the smile drops into something a little like awe. "Geez, you look really different."

"You...don't," is all Cheren can think to say. And really, Touya doesn't—not physically, anyway. His clothes are the same (though worn and faded and ragged), his hair is the same (a little more tousled), and he hasn't really grown any taller. It's more the way Touya holds himself that's changed, the way that once endless fire (determination, conviction,  _passion_ ) has ebbed and been replaced by something milder, more subdued.

But that was the way Touya had been after the whole Plasma incident, so if you think about it, that's really not a change, either. Not from the Touya who left, who Cheren hasn't seen or heard from since that falling out when he announced he was leaving Unova and they never really made it right before—

Cheren's gaze flicks to Pedro, still sort of cowering in the doorjamb. "...close the door, please."

Realizing that Cheren isn't mad, Pedro relaxes enough to look confused. "Sir?"

"I'd like a moment alone with"—Cheren's eyes flick back to Touya, who's looking around the office with undisguised amazement—"...an old friend."

Pedro glances nervously from Gym Leader to Hero before turning around and closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said the chronology would be off? Well, this takes place around the time Touya gets back and a few months before any of the previous drabbles.


	11. 10. Missing tooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touya gets stuck babysitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: So instead of Ghetsis actually _battling_ Touya, the guy sort of attacked and sent his team out on a rampage. Touya emerged wounded, but victorious. However, before Alder or Cheren could cart Ghetsis off, the Shadow Triad interfered, caused some mayhem, and, long story short, Touya ended up checking into the nearest hospital.
> 
> According to the doctors, his list of injuries are as follows: a stab wound to the ribs, a nasty bite-mark (from a Hydreigon) on his shoulder, electric burns (either from Zekrom or Ghetsis's Elektross) scaring his arms, and a semi-deadly neurotoxin (either introduced by the Triad or from Ghetsis's Cofagrigus's Toxic) being filtered out of his system.
> 
> ...yeah. It was not a pleasant experience.

Okay, so. 

Touko's out on a date with her crush, and her crush is father, right? Right. They made plans, but the guy's babysitter cancels, so he either has to cancel on Touko or make other arrangements. Touko being Touko, though, refused to let this little hiccup interfere with her evening, and came up with a solution.

Basically, Touya's ended up as designated babysitter for an eight-year-old little girl with bushy pigtails and an annoying habit of wiggling her tooth to high heaven and back.

Normally, Touya's okay with kids. Not great, but not terrible, either. But he's still severely lacking in the sleep (another sleepless night, yes, thanks) and Amy—that's her name—is a chattery little thing who seems to be overly dependent on his attention and way too disappointed when he brushes her off. He flops down on the couch after failing to tune her out and tells her to go work on her tooth or something.

"The more you wiggle it, the quicker it'll come out," he tells her.

 _And the quicker the tooth fairy will come_ , is the implied message. It used to work with Touko and him all the time when they were kids, whiling away minutes working at loosening already-wriggly teeth.

Amy's eyes light up and she runs off to the bathroom to get the cotton balls he recommended. Y'know, to stop the bleeding when the tooth pops out. With that done, Touya sighs contently, closing his eyes.

About five minutes later, there's an over-the-top wail and Touya groans.

The pitter-patter of footsteps. He feels the air shift and knows without opening his eyes that Amy is looking down at him.

"What."

"I lost my tooth!"

Touya cracks an eye open and regards her distraught face impassively. Why do kids always overreact? "Why don't you put it somewhere safe, then?"

But the little girl looks distraught. "I got it out, but I dropped it! I can't find it!"

"Wait, what?" Amy leans away as Touya sits up a little, bewildered. "Dropped it. Why did you—"

He stops when Amy sniffles, blinking rapidly. "T-There was b-blood an' I grabbed a c-cotton ball, but I f-forgot I was still holding the t-tooth and—"

"Okay. Okay." Touya swings his legs over the side of the couch. "I'll help you look, just—don't cry, okay?"

She sniffs again and nods.

And that was how Touya ends up on the bathroom floor, squinting at the tiles and trying to figure out where her tooth went, while Amy sits patiently on the toilet, her feet swinging over his head. She doesn't look so distraught anymore, he thinks a little grudgingly.

"Hey, Mr. Touya?"

Touya narrows his eyes and tries not to growl. Patience, Touya, patience. "Yeah?"

"I heard you were Champion," she says. "That true?"

Touya pauses. Slowly sits up, avoiding Amy's legs. Frowns. "Where'd you hear that?"

"TV," Amy says brightly. "They said you beat up Plasma and you saved Unova—and then that girl, Rosa, she did the same."

"...that doesn't make me Champion," Touya says carefully. And it doesn't. It makes him a Hero, but not Champion. Well, technically, he beat N, who beat Alder, but N never officially took the title (well, not before Touya beat him), so. And Touya, well, he never officially challenged Alder (that was Touko, years before he became a Trainer himself, and she lost).

"I heard you got hurt," Amy goes on, though there's something hesitant about her tone now. "That you ended up in the hospital."

Yeah. Touya had just narrowly beaten Ghetsis (and retained some wounds himself) and they were about to cart the guy off to the penitentiary when the Shadow Triad happened. Then next thing Touya knew, he was in the hospital with almost no memory of how it happened.

That came later.

Anyway.

"I did," Touya says. He recalls how Amy grinned from ear to ear when she and her dad showed up at the door, and how quickly it had disappeared when he regarded her with badly concealed annoyance. "For, like, two months. It sucked."

Belatedly, he realizes he probably shouldn't say "suck" in front of a kid. Oh well.

"I was really little," Amy tells him. "I wanted to send you a card, but I didn't know how to make one."

A lot of home-made cards had found their way to Touya's bedside over those two months. A lot of store-bought ones, too. But the memory of N leaving so abruptly (hazy after the whole fighting-the-Triad incident that landed him in the hospital in the first place, but painful nonetheless) had left a horrible taste in Touya's mouth, and all those lovely cards had ended up in the trash, unanswered and forgotten.

"What are you trying to say?" There's a bit of bite to Touya's voice, one he didn't mean to show.

"I really looked up to you," Amy says brightly. "I wanted to be like you—a Trainer like you, a Hero like you."

Ha. She needed to get a new role model.

"But you don't seem happy," she says suddenly, which makes Touya tense. There's a note of sadness to her voice, and she regards him almost pityingly. "You act angry, but I think you're kinda sad. Daddy gets that way, sometimes, when he talks about money. That's why we don't talk about money—even though we need money."

Touya's jaw is slack. This girl is, what, six, seven? Maybe eight?

There's a gap in the sad smile she gives him on account of her missing tooth, and she pats his head like he's a dog. "I hope you can be happy, Mr. Touya. You deserve it!"

 

They end up finding the fucking tooth (she forgot that she put it in her pocket, goddammit) and he gives her a baggy to put it in.

They don't talk anymore about what happened almost three years ago.

Touko comes home at eight-thirty and Amy's dad takes her home, thanks them both deeply—Touko for arranging it, Touya for actually looking after her—and Amy flaunts her lost tooth proudly. Touya swears she acts like it never went missing in the first place.

Maybe it didn't.

They leave, and Touko whirls around with a brilliant smile. "Oh my god, bro, thank you  _so_  mu— Where are you going?"

"Bed," he bites out. He wants to sleep for two years.

Her smile falters. "That bad?"

_I hope you can be happy, Mr. Touya._

" _Yes_." He stalks over to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Amy. She's a bad actress, but she's a good kid.
> 
> Oof, I think this is the longest one yet, in terms of word count.


	12. 11. Horoscope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate tries to entice Rosa with astrology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Nate is a very charismatic, mischievous individual who contrasts very sharply from Rosa's and Hugh's shared seriousness.

Nate's one of those people who comes into your house without warning and throws himself around it like he owns the place. It used to bug the hell out of Rosa and Hugh, but years and years had worn away at the annoyance, so now there's nothing but smooth surface for Nate's more aggravating quirks to roll off of.

It was one day, a few months after Rosa had declined the Championship (the whole challenging-the-Elite-Four thing was mostly because Hugh insisted she was strong enough) that Nate came in one morning with a rolled-up, glossy magazine in his hand and was waving it around like the conductor of a fucking symphony. And he has that  _look_  in his eyes, too, the kind that lets Rosa know she shouldn't engage or she'll regret it.

But that wasn't an option, not with Nate, so Rosa sighs and turns the TV off just as Nate plops down next to her on the couch and flashes a blindingly mischievous smile.

"Okay, what."

Nate unrolls the magazine and waves it at her. She groans internally. The word "horoscope" is branded across the cover like a veto-stamp of logic.

"Why are you so obsessed with horoscopes?" she demands as he leans back and starts to read.

"You never know what's written in the stars, Rosie."

She hates it when he calls her "Rosie". He doesn't care.

"I though you were an atheist," she mutters as he continues to flip through the thick, glossy pages. Gawdy images of half-naked chicks catch her peripheral and oh, god, that's probably why he picked it up and the horoscope page is just a bonus.

"I was," he says, "but after that whole thing with the Heroes and Dragons, I decided to reconsider the idea that there may be greater force than humanity out there. Like, Fate, for example. Did it ever occur to you that our lives might be just one thread in the tapestry of the universe? Well, it does to me. And I believe in Fate, Rosa. But I also believe in taking it into our hands."

"And you can pick up chicks who're gullible enough to believe this bullshit."

"Yes—that is a bonus." He flashes a cheeky grin. "You're a Scorpio, right? I know Hugh's a Taurus, and I'm a Virgo—"

"Nate," she says slowly, "please shut up about astrology. Go—go bug Hugh."

Nate pouts. "He already kicked me out."

Dammit.

"So anyway," Nate goes on, and Rosa just sort of sighs and lets her head fall back against the couch, because there's no denying Nate, no matter how hard you try. Especially if you're his second choice. Then he's  _extra_  hard to get rid of. "Hugh's says some shit about how he's gonna succeed in life, and mine says that—surprise, surprise!—everybody loves me—"

Rosa stares at the ceiling in mild irritation.  _Why do I hang out with you?_

"—and yours says— _ooh_!" Nate's eyes glitter in a predatory fashion. "You've got a chance encounter comin' your way, missy."

"Great. Get out."

Nate frowns. "At least  _pretend_  you like me."

"Too hard." She rolls her head to look at him pleadingly. "Can I please go back to watching my show now?"

He huffs in a rather prissy way. "You suck, Rosie."

"No matter how you look at it, Nate, I'm not going to have a 'chance encounter' of any kind," Rosa snaps, just as her XTransceiver buzzes. Frowning, she checks it, and is startled to see two texts from Cheren:

_grab n and get him to the gym i know u 2 stay in contact  
—Cheren_

_also, grab touko she'll want 2 c this  
_ _—Cheren_

First of all, Cheren almost never texts. When he does, though, it's in complete sentences. So, either someone's kidnapped Cheren and doing a poor job of luring her into a trap, or something's got him too frazzled to care.

Rosa stands. "I gotta go."

"Ooooh, I hear Fate calling!"

"It's Cheren," she deadpans. "He wants me to bring Touko and N to the Gym. For some reason."

Nate sobers. "He doesn't say why?"

"No." Rosa starts texting Touko, because she knows N is still figuring out how to properly use the XTrasceiver that Rosa bought him a couple weeks ago and he's currently enjoying Touko's unusual brand of passive-aggressive hospitality.

 _Meet me outside Aspertia_ , she types. S _omething's going on at the Gym. Explain later._

She sends it and then pockets her XTrasceiver. "I'm going to meet them on Route Nineteen. Go back to bugging Hugh."

"Duly noted, oh Hero of Ideals," Nate says as he gets up with a dramatic flourish.

Rosa sighs. Technically speaking, she has Zekrom, but she still doesn't consider herself a Hero, not until she commands the Dragon in world-saving circumstances.

Anyway.

"Good luck," Nate calls as she heads out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place around the same time as drabble 9 (Wristwatch).
> 
> Also, Nate is the oldest of the three (September), with Hugh following about half a year later (May) and Rosa being born another half year after him (November).


	13. 12. Fairytale gone wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know, okay? I just wrote this and it came out this way. I think you can guess who everyone is.

Theirs is a story with all the crucial components. There's a King, and a Knight, and a Princess, and a Dragon (okay, two—three?), and a Tower and a Castle, and a Villain to which the Heroes oppose. They're all there, but they're all mixed up, in the wrong places, the squares to this cosmic chessboard they call a battlefield inverted and bleeding into grey.

The King is not a Hero but a Martyr, and an unknowing one at that. He is blind to Truth and forces Ideals onto his subjects without consideration in a way that is guilelessly cruel. He wears a crown of blood and gold and stands by the Villain, unknowing of the strings that bind his hands and feet and how he willingly became the perfect puppet.

The Knight is not brave and gallant. He is young and blunt and scared as hell, and he didn't believe in gods or myths or stories or a cosmic chessboard in which bodies get stacked up needlessly and Fate is an unyielding force. He does not understand that the more he rises up to challenge them, the more tangled he becomes in this epic endgame of kings and Heroes, Truth and Ideals.

The King and the Knight are enemies, but they speak as though friends.

Then the King awakens a Dragon as Black as midnight, and it brings for Lightning (the Wrath of God), while the Villain watches from the shadows and grins in delight. And the Knight is scared, so scared because he now understands the Truth of how dangerous this is, how dangerous  _they_  are, how this is actually a war and maybe it always was.

But he too seeks a Dragon, this one White as ivory, that will bring forth Fire (and Brimstone) and bring the Villain to his knees, because fear is a necessity for courage.

A Castle rises as the Champion falls, and the Knight ascends it. But he is not trying to save a Princess—but rather, the King.

The Dragons clash and Fire is triumphant, and the Villain is foiled but he curses them all with Nightmares and Horrors and the Memory of what True Evil looks like when incarnated into human form.

The King runs, his crown shattered.

The Knight follows, his sword broken.

The Villain tries to rise again with Winter in his hands, a great beast of a Dragon with Hunger for Completeness, and it's a mad man with an unyielding pursuit of Science by his side instead of a Martyr King. 

It's a Heroine that rises to challenge him this time, not a Knight but a Princess—but she is a Warrior Princess, a Valkyrie. And when the Villain prepared to curse her in Eternal Slumber (what a Sleeping Beauty she'd make), the King comes and smites the spell with Lightning, and then the Princess is saving them all.

And the Villain is defeated, the Dragon slain, and Winter thaws. All is right.

The Knight returns with his sword drawn and his shield ready, but he finds the War is already over and Checkmate has already been called.

What is a Knight without a Dragon to slay?

And the Wicked Curse remains.

Theirs is a fairytale gone wrong, warped and twisted and wrong in the crucial places. There was no Good King but a Misguided King, there was a Scared Knight instead of a Brave Knight, and a Warrior Princess in the place of a Beautiful Maiden. And the Dragons were the weapons, the swords and knives that carved up the land and left it bleeding.

The fairytale has ended and the veil has lifted, the glamour replaced by wicked reality. The fairytale has ended but their story has not, for their lives have not, and now they must lay down their swords and relearn how to walk among men when they once slayed Gods.

It is not an easy task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "evil curse" mentioned alludes to a general disillusionment of humanity, a loss of innocence, and maybe some PTSD symptoms.
> 
> Also, I'm starting school tomorrow, so just be warned, in case I accidentally miss an update or something.


	14. 13. Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh and Cheren talk in the Gym's infirmary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: After the events of BW2, Cheren allows Hugh and his sister (Helen) to use the battlefield, when it's empty, to rehabilitate her Liepard. They could technically use the backyard, but Pokemon are no longer allowed outside their balls in Hugh's house after a fiasco with his Snivy a year or so back.

"You realize we're living out a cliche, right?"

"Hugh, shut up," Cheren says as he continues to rummage through the infirmary cabinets for neosporin and band aids for the scratches Helen's Liepard left on Hugh's arm and cheek.

The cuts have already stopped bleeding, geez. This is really unnecessary. Hugh huffs and slouches in the uncomfortable plastic chair he's been forced into, wondering how the Gym Trainer Cheren left in charge of Helen is faring. If his dad finds out he left his little sister in the care of a stranger, Hugh is dead meat, end of story.

"You're not even going to ask?" Hugh mutters.

"About what." Cheren finally finds a box of band aids and sets them on the counter.

"The cliche?"

"Don't care."

Hugh taps his knee. Geez, he forgot for fucking standoffish the guy can be. "Well, I'm going to tell you anyway, because I hate quiet; the cliche is that after the lead gets hurt, the love interest patches them up."

Cheren grabs cotton balls and neosporin, shooting Hugh a condescending glare. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I just don't like the idea of you being my love interest."

Cheren glares. Hugh shrugs.

"Fine." Cheren tosses the bag of cotton balls at him. Hugh catches it. "Tend to your own scratches."

"I was gonna anyway." Hugh barely has time to drop the bag to catch the box of band aids that Cheren lobs at him. "Hey, can I ask something?"

Cheren tosses the neosporin. "Is it more cliche crap?"

"You'd be lucky to land someone like me," Hugh huffs. If Hugh weren't straight, that is, and Cheren weren't a total hardass. "I was actually gonna ask how you were... doing okay. Y'know, with. Everything."

Cheren's expression morphs into bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"

"Y'know. That Touya guy coming back and shit." Hugh arched a brow. "I mean, guy just sorta  _comes back_. Like, with no regard for how the rest of you guys feel. So, again... how are you, man?"

Cheren is silent for a long time.

"Dealing," he says finally. "It's awkward, yes, but that's life. He's already come crawling back with an apology. I've apologized for being an ass about him leaving in the first place. We battled, we fought verbally, and now all that's left is for us to get over it and reach a new normal. That's all you can really do."

"That's..." Hugh just kinda blinks. "Kinda. Profound, sorta."

"Well, if you can't be profound in an infirmary, where can you be profound?" Cheren brushes past, giving Hugh a rough clap on the shoulder. "Now clean yourself up already."

"Uh, where are you going?"

"To make sure your sister doesn't terrorize poor Serena too badly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be much different, but then I realized we haven't seen any Hugh or Cheren yet, so. Here we go.
> 
> And yes, there is a Trainer in Cheren's Gym named Serena! She's the Lass that you battle second. Go look it up on Bulbapedia! (now, her relation to Serena in XY is another story)


	15. 14. Ribbon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shauntal and Iris talk about stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: The Elites are very close to each other and to their Champion. They talk to each other casually and discuss issues with each other and the like.

Iris has no idea how she ended up agreeing to this. It started with Iris complaining to Caitlin and Shauntal about the tabloids (they were really starting to get ridiculous) and ended with Shauntal doing her hair. Probably in an attempt to calm her down, but.

Really.

The things she got herself into.

"So," Shauntal says, and Iris honestly feels like she's been plucked out of reality and stuck into one of those cliquey teen movies where girls braid each other's hair and talk about boys, all the things that Iris missed out on while training under Drayden, "how are things with you and Bianca?"

Iris blinks. Blinks again. "What."

"Bianca. That's her name, right?" From the corner of her eye, Iris catches Shauntal grabbing a lacy pink ribbon and Iris nearly groans. It's not that she dislikes pink or anything, but she's kind of getting sick of wearing pink constantly (with the dress and all, not that she hates it, she loves it, just it's sort of associated with the Champion status and she prefers not to wear pink casually). "That girl that works for Juniper?"

"What about her?" Shauntal's really good at braiding. Iris wonders where she learned. Probably from something more helpful than a YouTube how-to video.

Shauntal giggles, sugary and sweet. "How  _are_  things?"

"I don't know what that means," Iris says, frowning.

 Shauntal's fingers are deft as she wears Iris's long, thick hair into a rope, entwining ribbons of white, pink, and blue. Fairy colors, but Iris doesn't protest. It'll still look nice.  "C'mon, 'Ris. I'm here for you. But you do have to talk about it  _sometime_ , y'know."

"What are you  _talking_  about?"

Shauntal's fingers still. "Sweetie, you're either really good at playing coy, or you're in denial, and neither is a good thing."

"In denial about  _what_?" Iris is really starting to get frustrated here. Shauntal seems to be talking about something and Iris isn't getting it, and it involves Bianca, somehow, and that makes her even more worried.

"Iris." There's a hint of concern in Shauntal's voice now. "Have you ever had a crush before?"

" _What_?" Iris tries to whirl around, but Shauntal yelps a protest,  _hold on, hold on, I'm not done!_

"Okay, I can see this isn't going anywhere— Stop  _squirming_ , Iris, I swear I'm almost— And done!" Iris feels the french braid fall against her lower back. She turns to see Shauntal brushing the ends of the ribbons almost proudly. "You have such pretty hair, Iris. I just wish you wouldn't pull it back haphazardly in that ponytail."

Iris is still stuck on the part where Shauntal was asking about her past crushes and how things are with her and Bian—oh  _god_. "H-Hold on— You don't actually think— You think I have thing for  _Bianca_?"

Shauntal arches a brow, like,  _c'mon, really?_

"I don't!" Iris's face is hot because she's angry, and not because she's blushing or embarrassed. Nope, not her. "I'm straight, Shauntal! Like, as-a-nail straight!"

Shauntal sighs and climbs off the couch of Iris's personal quarters. "Okay, okay. I get it. But Iris—if you ever wanna talk, I'm here, okay?"

Iris watches in disbelief as Shauntal shows herself out, and Iris just sits there, stunned, with colorful ribbons braided into her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iris is in denial.
> 
> I have a late-start day, so I'm just going to put this up.


	16. 15. Renaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touya doodles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touya is very much an artsy person, the type that'll scribble on napkins in his free time and fills up a sketchbook within the span of two weeks. When he started his journey, he packed about five blank sketchbooks, fully intending to fill them all (Touko teased him that it might not be enough). However, once Plasma started to get more serious, he began to pour all his energy into training and training only.
> 
> He hasn't been drawing since.

The first conversation that N had with Touya that wasn't confrontational or aggressive was when, by chance, he found the latter sketching at the edge of Pinwheel Forest. N was not an artist, nor did he have an artistic insight, but he'd been dazzled by how well Touya had been able to capture images so perfectly with no medium other than a pencil and paper.

" _Darks and lights give things depth_ ," Touya had told him. " _Black and white makes things real, but only when together. Otherwise they just suck._ "

N had resented that at the time, but he'd still admitted to himself that Touya was incredibly talented. Years later, now, he could now appreciate the profoundness of the statement.

He hadn't seen Touya draw since that night in Nimbasa City, when he'd caught Touya sketching in the amusement park and N politely asked him to join him on the Ferris Wheel. And then proceeded to reveal his true identity.

N comes and goes from Touko's apartment in the fashion of a typical wanderer, because as much as he appreciates Touko letting him stay at her place, he hardly feels comfortable staying there constantly. Occasionally, he'll retreat into the wilderness or stay at the halfway home in Driftveil to give her a reprieve, but he'll always come back because the last time he was gone too long, Touko stormed into Lostlorn Forest (where he'd been staying), grabbed him by the ear, and told him that he was never to do that again.

Anyway.

He returns after a week-long absence to find Percival sprawled out on the sofa and Touya sitting behind the coffee table. Touya is hunched over a stack of papers, seemingly scribbling something.

Touya doesn't "scribble", though...

Stealthily, N creeps closer and catches a glimpse of the sketch. Touya's style is fanciful and stylized, but it's more...moribund that N remembers, darker shadows and thicker lines, the sketch of Percival placed in a rather eerie-looking forest instead of a brightly-lit apartment. The Serperior itself has a more menacing air about him, eyes narrowed it slits and fangs poking out of his lip, and he's bristled a little, as if prepared for battle. In reality, Percival is lounging across the sofa, out cold after, judging by the bulge in his abdomen, a rather satisfying meal.

N wonders if that means something, the contrast between the reality and the artist's vision.

Touya stops for a minute. Slowly, he sets down his pencil and glances up—and then yelps when he spies N, the sound making N flinch back.

"Jeez," Touya gasps, clutching his chest and breathing exaggeratedly. "What the hell, man? Like, are you part owl or something?"

"Owl?" N repeats.

"I dunno." Touya's face scrunches thoughtfully. "I can't think of anything else so fucking quiet."

N shrugs.

Touya frowns at him. "Where did you even come from?"

"Well—"

"I  _mean_ , like, where were you before and how long have you been here," Touya says hastily. "Do  _not_  launch into a speech about procreation."

N smirks. "Your loss."

Touya rolls his eyes.

"To answer your question, I've only been here a couple minutes. I came in and I noticed you drawing, so—"

"So you decided to  _watch_?" Touya arches a brow. "Uh, that's kinda creepy."

"Sorry," N apologizes, though he doesn't see what's so odd about it. People pay to watch singers and actors and musicians like that violinist. Why wouldn't they like to watch an artist?

Touya rolls his eyes again and, after what appears to be an internal debate, goes back to his sketch.

"Renaissance," N starts to murmur, but he snaps his mouth shut to keep the rest from coming out.

Touya pauses. "What?"

It usually refers to a time period in which a culture is revitalized through a sudden influx of philosophical, cultural, and artistic values. The roots are words that, in a long-dead foreign language, mean "revival" or "rebirth".  But it is not limited to time periods. It can describe such a revitalization in places, not necessarily nations or countries but also cities and communities. It can describe a such a revitalization in even just one person.

Renaissance—a renewal of life, vigor, interest, etc..

He doesn't say any of this to Touya, though.

"Nothing," N says instead. "Sorry for disturbing you."

He leaves the room after that, ignoring Touya's quizzical stare, because N doesn't want to interrupt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to look up the literal definition of renaissance, because no way was I going to set this in the Renaissance Era. That's something else entirely.
> 
> But, yeah, Touya's a moody artist.


	17. 16. Staccato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touko tries to bring Touya in from the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touya finds rain calming and inspirational. Touko just think it's gloomy.

Touya's drawing again and it's a miracle, in Touko's opinion.

Sketches fly from pages like flocks of Tranquill, and after a week of loose-leaf papers cluttering up the coffee table, she buys a sketchbook from the craft-store (which was recommended to her by Burgh, so she knew it would be top-quality) and drops it tactfully onto the pillow next to him while he sleeps.

He's still sleeping till noon and staying up till five in the morning, but that's not something she can fix so easily. Right now, she's just content her little brother is drawing again, like he used to (before Plasma shit happened).

She's off work today (thank god for weekends) and it's raining, the staccato pitter-patter of droplets hitting the balcony. For some reason, Touya's sitting outside, curled up underneath an umbrella and hunched over his sketchbook. Touko's walking past when she does a double-take before sliding the glass door open.

"What the  _hell_  are you doing?!" she demands. The rain has already drenched her, it's coming down that hard. A silvery mist bathes the balcony, the staccato beat of raindrops almost deafening.

Touya looks up, water streaming off his umbrella and getting all over the plastic covering of the patio furniture. He blinks, straightening a little, the new sketchbook perched on his folded-up knee. "Uh, drawing. You should get an umbrella."

She glowers at him. Raindrops, all around, thrumming  _taptaptaptap_. "Get inside, dumbass, before you catch cold."

He regards her through half-lidded eyes. "You're the one who's gonna catch a cold, standing in the rain like that."

" _Touya_."

"I'm fine as long as I'm dry, Touks." He turns back to his sketches. "Now go inside. You'll get sick."

Why did Mom decide she needed a little brother? Like, seriously, why? He's not even remotely useful at ordering around.

She retreated back to the safety of indoors and wrung her hair out. Rather than close the door, she just stood there and pinned him with the most venomous glare she could manage.

It took him another two minutes to notice.

"I'm not coming back in," he called out over the staccato beat of the rain.

"Why are you even out there?"

He shrugs. "Rain's calming. It's my aesthetic."

Oh,  _god_. That's it. Touko throws her hands up and turns around, because she's so  _done_.

 _Why couldn't my brother be normal?_  she thinks as she slams the door closed, muffling the beat of raindrops.  _Why couldn't he be chipper and optimistic and not a moody artistic type?_

Her only reply is the storm. Touya remains outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always associate the word "staccato" with the sound of rain, thanks to this one description I read in a book I can no longer remember the name of. Anyway, when I saw the prompt "staccato", I decided to use rain.
> 
> Also the "rain is my aesthetic" line is courtesy of my awesome sister.


	18. 17. Cadence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cadence: a sequence of notes or chords comprising the _**close**_ of a musical phrase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: N keeps returning to the ruins of his castle the same way that kids who've been held captive hide in the closet or confine themselves in small places. It's because the world is way too big and overwhelming. While he was traveling, he found a way to manage the anxiety, but now that he's back in Unova and the castle is literally _right there_ , the temptation to revisit is too great.

It's off-kilter, now.

He remembers the day the music box was placed in his room, not long after he arrived at the castle. Anthea taught him how to operate it back when he was young, how his companions had found the melody to be quite soothing, though he himself had admittedly never taken much enjoyment from it.

As N sits in the center of the ruins of what was once his entire world, he sees it for what it truly is. A prison, meticulously and carefully crafted. Now, everything is ruined, damaged in the crash of the castle all those years ago, and the true corruption of this place—the wallpaper that he now sees as a garish parody of the real sky, the tacky plastic knickknacks he once considered toys but now sees as juvenile—has begun to show. The music box is dented and stuck on a perpetual loop, the melody coming out warped, eerie, and unwelcoming.

Somehow, it fits.

"So Rosa was right," comes a voice from the doorway, which snaps N out of his meditation. He glances up to see Concordia, arms crossed and a glint of disapproval in her honey eyes. For a moment, his memory tricks him, and he sees a slightly younger version of her, one adorned in a white silk dress and cream satin instead of a blue collared shirt and a long skirt. He sees the caretaker, the one of the two forms of human contact he truly didn't merely tolerate (the Sages) or outright loathe (everyone else) while growing up.

N blinks, and the illusion is gone.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"I could ask you the same thing," she retorts calmly. She drops her arms and crosses the distance until she's standing over him. "Rosa told me you keep coming back here—I had to see for myself. I borrowed her Mandibuzz, and wow, it turns out she was right."

He tries to bury the stab of betrayal he feels at the mention of Rosa. Knowing her, she was probably just trying to be helpful. "It's really not worth the journey."

"I beg to differ." She places a hand on her hip. "It's actually quite concerning."

Looking up at her like this makes him feel like a child again. He looks down at the ground instead.

"N."

"It's..." Hard to explain. N is not good with emotions and feelings and  _words_. He knows, logically, that he should really stop coming here. That it's unhealthy. That it's best to leave the past buried. But this was his entire world, his everything, and he can't just... walk away. Like nothing happened.

But he has no idea how to explain that, this illogical obsession with a time he can never return to, this reluctance (and maybe fear?) whenever he considers the (now uncertain) future, how sometimes he just needs to come to the ruins of the false world Ghetsis crafted for him and pretends that the years hasn't passed and just  _breathe_.

But Concordia kneels down until they're eye level. "I know," she says quietly. "I know."

Her and Anthea are like sisters to him, and they are the closest thing he has to family (because honestly, he's still not completely sure where he stands on Ghetsis), but N had never considered that they, too, might have suffered, as he had, during their childhood. He looks back, though, and wonders. How did they even come to the castle in the first place, and how did they come to be in the position they ended up as his caretakers? How did they live when they weren't caring for and comforting his child self? What might they have had to endure?

The music box plays, its cadence off-kilter and grating.

Concordia offers her hand. He takes it, and she pulls him to his feet. And he doesn't feel like a child anymore.

"Let's go," she says, and N forces himself not to look back until the cadence from the music box has long since faded and the castle ruins are no longer in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay.
> 
> Anthea and Concordia have pretty minor roles, but you have to wonder why they're there. Like, from a story point of view. Were they originally meant to be heroes themselves but didn't meet Ghetsis's expectations? Were they meant to take the brunt of the abuse so Ghetsis could better put up the illusion of a "good guy"? Who knows! But I like to think they have some sort of bond with N (sorta like siblings but slightly more maternal? given that they were his quote unquote "caretakers").


	19. 18. Asphyxiate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place on the same day as drabble 9 (Wristwatch).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Due to Touya's hospitalization in the aftermath of the final battle, he wasn't there to make a public announcement of Plasma's defeat the way that Rosa was. Alder handled that. In fact, Touya tried to avoid the public eye altogether and was for the most part successful. As a result, his name is known all across Unova as the "Hero of Truth", but his face is not. Rosa, however, is more well-known in terms of her face on account that she didn't avoid the public eye as vehemently and is also an actress.

In hindsight, Cheren's probably not the first person Touya should have come to after his return to Unova. Bianca would have been more understanding. Touko was his sister. Hell, even his mom or Juniper were better options. Any one of them would have welcomed him home with a fierce hug and a warm "welcome home".

Cheren, meanwhile, asked Touya clipped questions ("What brought you back?" "How long have you been back?" "Why did you come  _here_?") that Touya struggled to answer, because the history between them was stifling as hell, before a Gym Trainer arrived to inform Cheren of his next challenger. Cheren had cast Touya a glare and sternly told him not to move, he'd be back in a second, and  _don't touch anything_.

So now Touya's sitting in Cheren's office (office! guy has an office!), in a rather uncomfortable chair in front of the desk. He feels very much like he's been called into the principal's office for doing something wrong and is waiting for his mom to come in and give him a tired look, like,  _You and I both know you're better than this_.

It was  _one time._  Okay? And the kid was  _asking_  to be punched.

The point is, Cheren's probably not the person Touya should have gone to. When he'd heard about Cheren being a  _Gym Leader_  (giving up pursuing the Champion title), Touya just had to see it for himself. But now he's regretting it.

Yes, they were childhood friends and had known each other since forever. But...

Touya's gaze drifts and finds a photo he didn't notice before on the desk. It's one of him, Cheren, and Bianca when they were fifteen, the day they set out. Cheren's Tepig is on his shoulder, Bianca's Oshawott writhing a little in her arms as she struggled to figure out how to hold him properly, and Percival, still a Snivy then, looped around Touya's neck like a scarf. The Touya in the picture casts Cheren a warm look from the corners of his eyes.

Someone once said that friends shouldn't date friends, but at fifteen, Touya thought he knew better than whoever said that. That someone had ended up being right though. The whole point of a journey is growth and change, and sometimes people grow apart. Cheren became obsessed with strength and increasingly distant, Touya ended up tangled up with Plasma and stressed out and desperate for some semblance of normalcy. And...

Let's just say it ended badly.

Cheren had called Touya an idiot when he suggested going after N and promptly stopped talking to him, right up until the day Touya had left.

So, there's that.

The door creaks open and Touya jumps, half-expecting Cheren, but instead it's a girl maybe a couple years younger than him, with dark blue eyes and long brown hair pulled into a pair of pigtails dotted by doughnut-shaped buns. She blinks when she sees him, clearly startled, and that tells Touya she isn't a Gym Trainer, because they know their Gym Leader's schedules and would have known Cheren's dealing with a challenger right now.

"Um." Her hand still grips the doorknob, like she's afraid to let go or is expecting to slip back out like she was never there. "I'm looking for Gym Leader Cheren?"

Gym Leader Cheren. Holy shit. Touya feels a little dizzy.

"He's kinda. Uh, a challenger showed up, so." Touya is usually more articulate than this, he swears.

She frowns and puts her free hand on her hip. "Weird. He called me down here."

Touya takes a moment to regard her. Those bun-tails are definitely unique. Visor, blue eyes, skirt over leggings. She certainly fits the description. "You're... Rosa, aren't you?"

Rosa Alanderfer.  _The_  Rosa—the one who did his job for him.

Her shoulders slump and a look of annoyance flashes briefly before her expression become neutral again. Clearly, fame is a bitch to her, too.

"Yeah. That's me." She scans the room. "Any idea when Cheren'll be back?"

She doesn't ask how he knows, why he's here, doesn't react the way most people do when they talk to  _the_  Touya Kokuen. Literally no reaction.

It occurs to Touya she has no idea how he is.

Well then.

A voice sounds from the hallway, irritated and vaguely familiar. Rosa turns to the hallway with a sigh. "Excuse me for a sec," she says,  _not even looking at him_ , before slipping back into the hall.

Touya taps on his knee, miffed for some reason he can't quite explain.

A couple minutes later, a woman with brown curls storms into the office. "Okay, what the literal hell? That guy cannot just call us all here and then—"

She stops. Touya stands. She's ditched her trainer gear in favor of a pair of skinny jeans and a blouse, and her hair is down instead of in a ponytail, but that's definitely Touko.

Oh oh oh geez.

The next thing he knows, Touko's tackled him into a hug and he's trying desperate to throw her off, but dammit, she's stronger than him and she's sobbing into his shoulder and the room is starting spin because she's  _fucking crushing his lungs_.

"Touko...! Can't breath...!" He tries to push her off but to now avail. The moment pushed them up against the wall, so there's really no room, and he  _can't breathe dammit_. "Oxygen please...! Dammit Touko I can hear my ribcage breaking...!"

Mercifully, she releases him from her death grip, and Touya desperately floods his lungs with oxygen, thank god. She grabs his face, tears in her eyes and her bottom lip quivering. "Oh my god," she's saying, her voice cracking. "This—this isn't a dream, right? I'm not dreaming this?"

"You dream about asphyxiating me?" Touya asks dryly.

She bursts out into a strangled sort of laughter, somewhere between sobbing and laughing. "Oh, yeah, that's you alright! No one else could be such a little bitch."

Touya resents that, even as she pulls him into a more merciful hug, and he hugs her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their surnames and ages are as follows:  
> Touya Kokuen*—nineteen  
> Touko Kokuen*—twenty-three  
> Cheren Markham—nineteen  
> Bianca Crowley—nineteen  
> N Harmonia—twenty-two  
> Rosa Alanderfer—seventeen (two months short of her eighteenth birthday)  
> Nate Linden—eighteen  
> Hugh Shaffer—eighteen  
> Iris Baltimore—seventeen
> 
> *(Kokuen is made up of the kanji _kuro_ , meaning "black", and _en_ , meaning "flame", so it literally means "black flame")  
> 


	20. 19. Lucky rabbit's foot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of drabble 18 (Asphyxiate).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Bianca's family is somewhat superstitious (hence one of the reasons why her dad was so reluctant to let her travel), and she grew up legitimately believing that she'd break her mom's back if she stepped on a sidewalk crack and threw salt over her shoulder whenever she knocked a saltshaker over. Touya and Cheren tease her for it, but she brushes it off.

Unlike Cheren and Touya, Bianca puts stock in superstitions. Cheren thinks they're stupid, Touya is interested in them merely as stories. Bianca is the only one who takes them seriously. Which might be bad, because she's training to be a scientist, but hey, it's the way she is.

Her mom gave her a good luck charm just before she started her journey—a rabbit's paw, they say, is good luck when you make an amulet out of it. Bianca packed it in her bag when she set off, because she knew the boys would make fun of her. So she never let them see it. And she still carries it around to this day.

For a while, she doubted the luck that came with it. Because Touya left, and they started drifting apart (although, you could argue that they were already drifting apart, had been since they started finding their own paths while on their journeys), and well, yeah. That wasn't lucky. There were sometimes Bianca thought it might have even ended up being a  _bad_  luck charm, that rabbit's foot.

Bianca waits in the Gym lobby. Cheren sent her an obscure text asking her to come, asap. Cheren doesn't usually do that, so Bianca called Juniper and told her she needed a little time off (because who knew what was going on, she might need a couple days), and now she's here.

Rosa comes in with N and Touko in tow, and now Bianca is buzzing with questions.

Touko looks startled to see the blonde. "Cheren called you too?"

Bianca nods.

"Did he say why?"

She shakes her head.

Rosa and N exchange bewildered looks while Touko frowns.

"I'll go see where he is," Rosa announces, and then she's down the hall before anyone can object.

After a few moments, Touko crosses her arms and follows.

Bianca stands in the lobby, blinking at N. He looks very uncomfortable, having been left alone with her.

She's tempted to, in that moment, spill her guts, explain how she doesn't blame him for Touya's disappearance like Cheren does, explain that she doesn't hate him or whatever. She really, really is. There's a lot of things she could say, but she just... doesn't. That lucky rabbit's foot doesn't help her much with courage, either.

After a period of uncomfortable silence, Rosa comes back, bewilderment written all over her face. "Um. Touko said to get you guys for something?"

"Why?" N asks. Why. Yes, that is a very good question.

"I don't know," Rosa admits, her brows furrowed. "She was hugging some guy..."

Bianca and N exchange a glance while Rosa leads them to Cheren's office. Touko may be spontaneous, but she isn't prone to impulsive displays of affection. Not with strangers.

Unless—!

Bianca reaches into her pocket and clutches the rabbit's paw just before she sees him, and then she's throwing herself into a hug.

"I missed you!" she sobs.

She can't see his face, but she feels him smile. "Same here."

Maybe there is some luck in that rabbit's paw after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these headcannons are sort of born from the prompts themselves, but I like them and they're creative.
> 
> Like, you might protest over someone who's superstitious going into a profession of science and research, but a lot of scientists are also religious, so, there's my justification for making Bianca superstitious.


	21. 20. Freckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another Bianca drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Bianca is somewhat self-conscious because she is the only she knows who freckles.

Bianca runs a finger across her cheek self-consciously. She knows she's not supposed to touch her face or risk breaking out with acne, but she's more concerned with what's already on her face.

Freckles are a natural thing, but Bianca always gets self-conscious. Maybe it's because Cheren never freckles, and Touya and Touko only a freckle a little, while she has enough spots to put a Dalmatian to shame. They only show up in the summer, like now, after Caitlin has once again invited Bianca to her Villa (for the week, this time, instead of just the weekend!) alongside Iris. Bianca still remembers stealing her mom's concealer when she was kid and slathering it so thickly over her face that she ended up breaking out so badly the nickname "pizza face" had ended up circulating through the third grade with embarrassing rapidness. Touya actually punched one boy in her defense, something she's always been secretly grateful for.

The point is, Bianca hates her freckles. Paired with her glasses as they were, she looks like the biggest dork this side of Unova. No amount of lightly-applied sexy makeup techniques she's learned from Touko are changing that.

Iris knocks and Bianca jumps. "Hey. You've been in here a while. You okay?"

Bianca nods, flushing. She wishes she had rich, dark skin like Iris—skin that doesn't break out into enough spots to rival the Milky Way. Iris always looks pretty, sleek and composed and regal like any one of her Dragons, belied by her peppy demeanor. Iris looks pretty. Really pretty.

"So..." Iris looks sheepish. Awkward. She scratches her elbow. "That diner place I mentioned yesterday is just a block away. Wanna swing by and grab breakfast?"

Bianca grins a little wider than she should. "Sure! Anything liked by the Champion must be worth trying."

Iris smiles a little. If she notices how many freckles Bianca has already accumulated, she doesn't say anything, mercifully. Bianca's grateful for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these two.


	22. 21. 3:28 am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touya can't sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touya lacks a normal sleep schedule.

Touya cannot sleep for the life of him.

It's not that he doesn't want to. He does. God, he does. So badly. He's so exhausted that he can't think straight.

But y'know those times when you're so tired you could cry, but your mind won't shut up, and your thoughts keep you awake when all you really want is  _sleep_? Well, that's Touya pretty much every night.

He groans and pulls a blanket over his head. The clock says it's past three AM. Goddamn. Why can't he just  _sleep_?

...because every time he closes his eyes late at night, he thinks about Ghetsis and his damned Hydreigon and—

Yeah, you get the idea.

It's pathetic, really. It's been three years since... And he can't get it out of his head. It's like a shadow, stalking him everywhere he went. He could ignore it, for the most part, but it was at night, when the sun sank and the sky turned dark as pitch, that the memory attacked him mercilessly.

It happens in the day, sometimes. Rears their ugly heads—the memories. One of the many things he's learned over the years is how to deal with them. He's learned to push them aside for later.

Unfortunately for him, later is now.

Touya groans into his pillow and steals another glance at the digital clock on his nightstand.

3:28 AM.

Yeah, at this point, he's just about given up on sleeping tonight. Even if he did fall asleep, it'd probably only last him a couple hours anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this is short.
> 
> In other news, did anyone see the recent Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon trailers? God, it looks so _epic_! I am so fucking hyped you wouldn't believe it! September can't get here fast enough.


	23. 22. Kaleidoscope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa is preparing for a garage sale, and Nate and Hugh help her move boxes. They pause to dig through childhood memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: These three have been friends since they were six years old. Rosa's family moved to Aspertia in the aftermath of her mom's divorce and quickly befriended her neighbor. A couple months later, they met Nate, and the three of them have been inseparable ever since.

"Thanks for helping out," Rosa says as she hoists another box into her arms. It feels weird, clearing all her old childhood memorabilia out of the attic like this, like it's old junk. It feels weird, packing it up to sell it later in this big garage sale they have planned. "I know you guys probably had stuff to do today."

Hugh and Nate pause their (idiotic) contest of how heavy a load they can lift at her remark. "No problem," Nate says brightly. "I had a day off, anyway, and no idea how to spend it."

Hugh scoffs. "You probably would have spent it scamming on some waitress or something."

Nate laughs good-naturedly. "Yeah, probably."

(Thank god that didn't rub off on Hugh, cough, cough.)

"I can't believe you're actually selling this stuff," Hugh says as he sets a box down, grunting. He looks tired. And that makes sense, because he's been here, helping out for about a half hour longer than Nate (which she is really grateful for! ahem, it's what friends do, s-so...). "I mean, don't you even want to go through it all?"

"Well, eventually," Rosa admits sheepishly. "Right now, I'm more focused one getting this junk outta the attic. Mom and I will start opening stuff tomorrow."

Nate hums thoughtfully. Then he drops the box he was carrying, kneels down over it, and grabs a box cutter. "I'm opening this."

Rosa blinks in alarm. "Nate, don't—"

He's already cutting into the box and throwing aside the cardboard flaps. Hugh rolls his eyes.

"Holy  _shit_." Nate starts rifling through whatever junk has been collecting dust for god-knows-how-long. "Rosa, Hugh, you gotta take a look at all this! Geez."

Rosa and Hugh exchange a look before sighing. They know Nate well enough that he's not going to let them work again until they indulge him. They end up on either side of Nate (if only so she won't be distracted, being so close to—), crouching over the box.

Nate unearths what looked like a cardboard tube decorated with crappy  flower stickers, but he holds it with a sort of reverence. "Oh my god. Rosie, do you remember this?"

Sort of? It does look famili—  _Oh wait._

"Holy cow." She takes it from him, gingerly, and examines it  a little more closely. And yes, it i _s_. Holy  _cow_. "I almost forgot about this..."

"About what?" Hugh demands, oblivious.

"My old kaleidoscope," Rosa says. She shook it, then peered through the lens. A full spectrum of colors unfurls before her eyes, and she grins. "Oh my god. Do you remember when we made these?"

"Yes. It was an assignment form Mr.  _Mackey_." Nate sticks out his tongue. "God, I hated that guy."

"He was a nice teacher," Hugh protests good-naturedly. "He just didn't like you because you never took his class seriously."

"Hey. If he didn't find me funny, that's on him." Nate turns to Rosa, arching a brow. "I can't believe you kept that."

She stares at him in bewilderment. "You  _didn't_?"

"Nah. I lost mine not long after I got it back." Nate shrugs nonchalantly. "I still have no clue where it is."

"I think I might've given mine to Helen," Hugh says. His brows scrunch in thought. "...I think."

Rosa rolls her eyes (of course he'd give it to his sister, he's an awesome older brother), then goes back to peering into the kaleidoscope. The colors spiral outwards in the most gorgeous patterns. She remembers being so unsatisfied with it as a perfectionistic second grader, but she can't find anything wrong with it now. It's so dissonant, thinking about it now—the simpler times when all she cared about was getting an A on her homework and wearing nice clothes to impress the popular kids, and now, when she's been going so fast she'd almost forgotten to slow down for the little things.

Like this.

She lowers the kaleidoscope. "...do you guys miss being little?"

Hugh looks at her, startled. Nate chuckles.

"Sometimes," Nate admits. "Definitely was simpler, wasn't it?"

"Says the biggest Casanova in kindergarten," Hugh retorts, to which Nate laughs and Rosa smirks. "...but yeah. I guess so. Every now and again."

Rosa hums as she absently brushes her thumb over the cheap flower stickers. These used to look so pretty to her eyes. She remembers going to the convenience store with Hugh to pick them up, and she'd felt so grown up, being alone with a boy at eight years old, though she hadn't understood why it was such a grown up thing back then. She still remembers holding his hand because he dared her, claiming she'd be too much of a sissy to do something that "only grown ups do" (and she'd done it mostly to stick it to him), and feeling a warm pang of satisfaction when his palm fit against hers.

"...where did all that time go?" she wonders aloud.

"Oh, god, we're not going to start getting an nostalgic and depressing, are we?" Hugh asks flatly.

Rosa snorts, covering her hand with her mouth, and Nate outright laughs. "Hugh the moodkiller strikes again!" crows Nate.

Hugh punches Nate so hard his shoulder bumps against Rosa. "Screw you, Linden."

Rosa grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love these three. They have such a lovely dynamic.


	24. 23. Icarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Canadian Thanksgiving, so in the spirit of generosity, here's a second update.
> 
> Cheren and Alder chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: After Touya was discharged from the hospital, Touko persuaded him to get back into the groove in hopes of curing his... "ennui", for lack of a better term. To do this, Touya decided to train under Alder for a while. It was not long after he stopped training under Alder that Touya left Unova.

"Well," Alder says brightly from the doorway. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Hi Alder," Cheren says. He really doesn't bother with formalities. "Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Alder directs Cheren to the couch while he closes the door behind them. "So," starts the former Champion, "what brings the Aspertia Gym Leader to my humble abode?"

"I..." Cheren bites his tongue. This is awkward and, in hindsight, probably not the brightest idea he's ever had. "I want to talk to you about, uh. Touya."

"Oh?" Alder meanders over to the kitchen and starts up his Keurig. "What about him? And on another note, how do you take your coffee?"

God, he forgot how scatterbrained Alder is. Cheren crosses his arms and taps his foot. "Black."

"You sure?"

" _Yes._ "

Alder clucks his tongue. "Testy."

Cheren doesn't dignify that with a response.

The Keurig beeps and Alder brings over two steaming cups of coffee. Cheren accepts his with a curt thanks as Alder eases himself down onto the other couch.

"I could never drink my coffee black," Alder remarks. "Far too bitter. I have such a sweet tooth myself."

Cheren blinks slowly.

"Heh. Even without those glasses, you've got a pretty damn intense stare there."

Cheren blinks again.

"Okay. Okay." Alder leans back. "So you have some questions about Touya?"

"Yes."

"I heard he finally made his way back to Unova," Alder remarks. He arches a brow. "Does this have anything to do with that?"

"...in a way." It has more to do with when Touko marched into his office last week with a sketchbook in hand, asking for psyche consult. He wasn't a therapist, but she was pretty damn insistent. Cheren was sort of glad he didn't have any siblings. "I know you mentored him for a while after the Plasma incident of three years ago. We didn't really see him all that much after that"—because the damned idiot had practically shut himself away after he got out of the hospital—"so I was thinking you might have some insight the rest of us don't."

Alder's brow arches higher. "'Us', eh?"

"Fine.  _Me._ " Cheren sips his coffee and, oh, that is nice and hot and fresh. He needs to get a Keurig.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Cher." It is only out of respect that Cheren doesn't tear into Alder for calling him that. "After the incident, Touya came to me and asked me to train him. I was hesitant, because he was still convalescing, but he was insistent. After a month or so, though, he thanked me and said he wouldn't be needing anymore training."

Alder shrugged. "Don't know what to tell you, Cher. He was always kept stuff to himself."

Cheren's stomach drops.

"...are you aware how transparent your expressions are?"

"Touya..." Cheren taps the side of his mug. "He's not usually... quiet. He's snarky. He's bold. He doesn't..." He trails off.

Alder's gaze is knowing. "You two are close, yes?"

"He's my friend." Former best friend. Ex-boyfriend. Whatever.

"Hm..." Alder takes a long, slow sip of his coffee, his eyes intense. Finally, he sets it down on the coffee table. "Have you ever heard the story of Icarus?"

"The guy with the wax wings who flew too close to the sun and drowned?"

"Ah! So you  _do_  know it."

Cheren sends the elder man an incredulous look. He cannot be serious. "You're the one who first told it to me." Alder blinks, and Cheren frowns. "On Route Five? When we first met and you questioned my motivation for challenging the League? Ringing any bells?"

Alder laughs awkwardly. "Oh. Yes. That's right."

"...you don't remember." Oh god. "How the hell did you become Champion again?"

Alder huffs. "Respect your elders."

Whatever. "Are you comparing Touya to Icarus now?"

"Well... you were both Icaruses in your own way." Alder pauses, frowning. "Icaruses? Icari?"

"Alder."

"Testy, testy." Alder picks up his coffee mug again. "You were both aiming high. You a little higher than him, but he was shooting high too. And then he ended up becoming a Hero, and, well, that's a lot closer to the sun than Champion, isn't it?"

Cheren takes a long, slow sip of his coffee, processing. Then, "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying you got close to the sun, but when the wax from your wings melted, there ended up being a conveniently-placed boat there to fish you out, and you landed on your feet." Alder pauses, then gestures with his mug, adding, "Gym Leader."

Cheren tightens his grip on the mug. "And Touya didn't have that."

"More like he touched the sun, got burned on contact, and fell into some stormy seas," Alder says. "At least, that's how I figured it."

"...I see." Cheren looks down at his half-finished coffee. His reflection eyes him almost accusingly. "Touya...started drifting away from us after... Hell, maybe even before that. I should have noticed something was off"—as early as Wellspring Cave, when Touya had smiled in relief and thanked him for coming with, even though at the time it hadn't made any sense to Cheren, because he hadn't thought Touya might be  _scared_ —"but... I..."

Ended up getting obsessed with strength and pursuing a lofty title, to the point where he'd ignored everything else.

"Hey." Alder's stern gaze cuts through his thoughts of self-loathing. "When Daedalus fashioned Icarus's wings, he didn't have a lot to work with. All he could use was candle wax and feathers. He tried to warn Icarus, and it's not his fault Icarus didn't listen."

"Don't blame myself, if what you're saying," Cheren says.

Alder grunts in affirmation.

Right. The past is the past, and even if Cheren regrets, he can't change the reality as it is now. He sighs and takes another sip or coffee. It's bitter, but in a good way, the way black coffee always is.

He wasn't there for Touya back then. But he be here now, if he needs him.

Cheren finishes his coffee, and places the mug on the table with a decisive clink. "Okay. I'm going to go." He gets up, then, adding, "Thanks, Alder."

Alder raises his mug. "Anytime, Cher. Anytime."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy, it's Alder, bein' all grandfatherly mentor-ish. He made this part so fun to write.
> 
> That's all I have to say.


	25. 24. 1000 paper cranes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place slightly before drabble 23 (Icarus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touko and Touya are half-Kantonese on their dad's side. Kanto's culture is similar to real-world Japan's.

Whenever Russ brings Amy into work (and it is on occasion, because it's summer and vacation has started at school, but not at the Battle Company, and his babysitter is flaky as hell), she always brings Touko an origami crane.

Touko always smiles and accepts the slightly mangled paper bird. They're always folded from brightly colored construction paper, and Amy draws a pair of eyes and a smile on it. They really are sweet. And Touko does like Amy. So she accepts them and keeps them in a folder she tucks under her bed, in case Touya decides to start snooping.

She thinks nothing of the nice gesture until one day, Amy presents her a bright red crane and asks Touko how many that makes.

Touko holds the crane in her hands, smile faltering. "Um. Was I supposed to be keeping track?"

"Yes!" Amy says exasperatedly.

Oh. Whoops. She did not know that. "Um. Well, I think it's like"—ballpark, Touko, ballpark—"sixty, maybe?"

But Amy pouts. "Boo. That's nowhere near a thousand."

Touko's eyebrows fly to her hairline. "Whoa! A thousand? You're gonna make a thousand of these?"

"Yeah! Like the story!"

Amy looks at Touko like she should know, but she doesn't. So where does that leave her? "Uh... what story?"

"The one with the thousand paper cranes!" Amy says.

...very helpful.

Touko smiles politely. "Sorry, Ames, I haven't heard that one. Can you tell me it?"

Amy looks startled, but she nods. "Daddy once told me a story about a princess who folded a thousand paper cranes and she got a wish. So she wished for a prince and then a prince came and marries her!"

Touko hasn't heard that one. "Oh. Well that's a nice story."

Amy shuffles her feet. "Daddy says it was a Kantonese story, and I thought it'd be nice if you got a wish, since..."

Since Touko's part Kantonese. She can't decide if that's sweet or racist. So she just smiles. "Well that's very sweet Amy. Thank you. Tell you what—how about next time, we fold some cranes together, okay? And then I maybe we can both get a wish."

Amy's eyes light up. "Okay! And maybe we can get one for Mr. Touya, too."

For some weird reason, Amy seems to really like Touya. Which Touko thinks is a good thing, but strange nonetheless. "Sure."

It's only after Amy scampers off that Touko realizes she has no idea how to do origami.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Amy. So much.
> 
> And yes, the idea of getting a wish after making 1000 paper cranes is a real thing in Japanese culture. The "princess and the prince" part, though, was me taking creative liberties.


	26. 25. Origami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of drabble 24 (1000 paper cranes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touko is the sort of sister who wouldn't hesitate to snoop.

The fuck has she gotten herself into.

Touko comes home and drops her briefcase on the counter with a thump, running a hand roughly over her face. Why did she promise Amy they'd do origami? She doesn't know how to do origami. Origami sucks. She tried it, once, and then she'd ended up making paper aeroplanes with Touya.

And like hell is she going to be shown up by a seven-year-old.

There's only one solution, Touko decides—how-to videos on YouTube.

She grabs her laptop and starts up a video on making paper cranes. Watches it once, just to get an idea of what's doing and make sure it's a video with decent instructions. It is. Which means the next step is getting paper to practice on and likely mangle irreparably.

Fun times.

...there's no paper in the printer.

Touko slams the paper drawer closed with a growl. "Touya," she grumbles under her breath. He's been going through paper like a knife through butter. As much as she loves him and supports his passions, she couldn't help but be irked, just because he's her brother.

 _Would it be ethical to rip some pages out of his sketchbook?_  she wonders.  _It'll be a hell of a lot easier than going all the way to Office Depot to get more..._

"I bought the damn thing anyway," she says aloud. "It's practically mine." Plus he stays here rent-free, eats her food, and basically just sits around like a shut-in (save for those few days like today when he actually does something productive).

"He can spare of a few pieces of paper," she decides as she makes her way over to his room.

And what do you know, the sketchbook is just lying on the nightstand, practically begging for her to take it. She smirks.

_Don't mind if I do._

She opens it from the back, thinking she'll find empty pages (because even he can't go through a sketchbook in only three weeks), but it turns out that was actually the  _front_ , and she gets a full view of one of his sketches.

...it's not pretty.

Touko freezes, blinking. It's...bloody. Dark. Thick lines, heavy shading. She frowns. It's...not what she was expecting, to say the least.

Curiosity overrides common sense, and she's leafing through the sketchbook before she realizes it. Touya's style has always been sort of visceral, with an elegance that always seemed to belie and keep it from become too dark, that makes it whimsical and imaginative instead of morbid.

But that whimsicality is absent now. Before, Touya's work always had an underlying sense of—well, not  _hope_ , per se, but something close to it, that is suddenly gone, vanished beneath thick darkness and warped shapes. Dark, gruesome scenes, like a forest brought out of a horror story and mutilated skulls that ooze something thick and dark from the eye cavities. Touko  frowns, licking her lips. There are heavy lines, lots of shading, pictures with either so much shading the whole page looks as though it was dipped in ink or pictures where the shading is localized into one area so that the rest of the page is left blank and untouched.

And all of them seem very disturbing to her.

Touko keeps going, her fingers numb. Curling claws the seem to reach out of the page. Demonic fangs set in monstrous faces. Bodies twisted into violent fight-scenes. A Hydreigon head that looks far more wicked than it should. A pair of malicious, leering eyes—

Touko slams the book closed. She stands there, her heart pounding and a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead.

"Touko?" comes a voice from the hallway.

Oh, shit, that's Touya. Shit, shit, shit. Touko drops the sketchbook on his bed and bolts for her own room, to make it look like she wasn't in his room at all (this is not the first time she's snooped, she's his sister, okay?), grabs a book she left on the nightstand, and flops down on her bed.

He finds her like that, pretending to read. She looks up with a false smile and pretends to have only just noticed him. "Oh, hey! You're back."

Her voice is way too high. He'll see through it. Shit.

Touya arches a brow, but doesn't comment on it, thank god. "You realize your laptop's on the counter, right."

Laptop. Right. Fuck.

"Yeah. I tried to learn origami, but I gave up." She holds her book up. "I'm reading now."

"...okay." He turns to leave.

"Oh, Touya," she says, way too fast, then winces.

But he pauses. "Yeah?"

"Um. I was curious. Where do you—where do you get inspiration. For like, your drawings and stuff?"

"Why?"

"Told you—curious." She would totally have PokeStar Studios in her pocket if she hadn't gone into the Battle Subway when she was seventeen.

"Uh. I don't know. Wherever." He shrugs. "Thoughts. Life. Dreams."

Dreams—more like nightmares.

"Okay," she says brightly with a big, plastic smile. "That's all."

Touya eyes her suspiciously before he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem. So, in drabble 23 (Icarus), it's briefly mentioned that Touko stormed into Cheren's office with a sketchbook. This is why.


	27. 26. Hallucination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so warning for PTSD symptoms and mentions of self-harm. If you're squeamish, please look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touya has been suffering from PTSD/PTSS ever since the events of BW.

Sometimes, it hits Touya in the middle of the day, for no reason what so ever. It just—comes, hard and strong and all-consuming. The memory. The sensation.

For a moment, he drops out of reality, and he's back  _there_. Columns and tapestries and the smell of ozone mixed with sulfur. A viperous smile and a vicious beast that seemed intent on ending his existence.

The memories burn like hell. The places where his wounds have healed and scarred suddenly itch. It takes all his self-control not to scratch at them, because he's learned that accomplishes nothing other than cutting into his own skin. If he's going to do that, he might as well use a knife.

Um.

Not that's he's going to.

Or even planning on it.

That would be...

...

He's not going to do that.

Touya wonders if he's going insane. Honest to god, he wonders that. What other explanation is there for the way he obsesses over danger that's long past?

There are triggers, too.

Whenever he brushes Reshiram's Ball absentmindedly. When someone asks about the electric scars on his arms if he's wearing short sleeves (which is why he started wearing long sleeves, even during summer). When he sees any one of the Pokemon Ghetsis owned—Hydreigon being the worse, he can't even look at one without dropping out of reality and into one of those hallucinations.

It plagues him, torments him. There's something wrong with him, mentally. There has to be. Some psychosis or something. Definitely.

Just. He wants it to stop.

It's not so much to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short character introspection. And, for the record, people who suffer from PTSD/PTSS don't so much _hallucinate_ as they do suffer from intrusive flashbacks. Touya, however, is convinced he's hallucinating rather than experiencing flashbacks, because he has no knowledge of how PTSD works.


	28. 27. Puppet show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the last double-update for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: When Helen was little, Hugh used to indulge her by putting on puppet shows and participating in tea parties. Y'know, that sort of thing. She's older now and isn't really into that stuff, but Hugh still indulges her and from time to time, she takes advantage of this for her own amusement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am extremely proud to introduce to you—Nathan Linden's Fantastic Puppet Theater!"

Rosa pops a popcorn kernel in her mouth, biting down a smile at Nate's over-the-top intro. At her side, Helen sneaks a couple kernels from the bowl sitting in the crook of Rosa's folded legs. The make-shift curtains, really just beige blankets, rustle briefly and she hears Nate yelp.

"I didn't agree to that name," comes Hugh's baritone from "backstage".

"Too bad! I already introduced us!" More rustling. "Just get your puppet already!"

Rosa turns to Helen with some amusement. "Do they know you've outgrown puppet shows?" she whispers.

Helen is eleven, exactly seven years younger than Hugh. She's more a tween than a kid, at this point. She holds a finger to her lips in "shush"ing motion. "It makes Hugh happy," the younger girl whispers back, "so I let him do it."

Rosa chuckles.

The curtains part and a rather gawdy-looking sock puppet appears. "Hello!" says the puppet in a high-pitched, obnoxious voice. "My name is Mr. Socks, and I'm going to be yo—"

"Oh my god." Rosa cups her hand over her mouth to contain her laughter. "That is—that is  _fantastic_."

"Will Rosa Alanderfer please shut up?" Socks requests, rather passive-aggressive.

"Will Mr. Socks stop breaking the fourth wall?" growls Hugh from behind the curtain.

The curtain rippled. "Then perhaps Miss Stocking should come out and join us?" Socks quips.

Helen snorts.

"Really?" Hugh drawls.

Socks disappears through the curtain. "C'mon, man, this was your idea," Rosa hears Nate grumble.

"And I'm very much regretting it."

"Look," Nate whispers fiercely, loud enough for Rosa to hear. "I wrote a script and everything. Honor the amount of work I put into this.

A sigh. "...fine. But you need a new hobby."

It's more like Nate gets way too invested into little things like this. But, an argument for another day.

"Oh boys~," Rosa purrs. "We're still waiting to see what Nathan Linden's Fantastic Puppet Theater has to offer~."

More rustling. Helen turns to Rosa with a wicked grin.

Then, from the curtains, pops out the ugliest thing Rosa has ever seen in her entire life—it's got lipstick and a sparkly bow and a pair of sparkly buttons for eyes and  _oh god_. Rosa has to clamp both hands over her mouth  _and_  bite her lip for good measure.

"Hello!" exclaims the puppet in this obnoxiously high voice that makes Rosa squeal into her hands. "My name is Miss Stocking and— oh my god, this is so stupid."

The transition from the squeaky, effeminate voice to Hugh's normal baritone is too jarring. It's too much for her to take. Popcorn soars through the air as Rosa falls onto her back, roaring with laughter. Helen joins her a second later, laughing, popcorn in their hair.

The curtains part and Nate emerges, grumbling about his show is ruined. Hugh just sits there, blinking.

"It's not supposed to be a comedy!" Nate growls. He whirls around to glare at Hugh, planting his hands (including the one with Mr. Socks on it) on his hips. "This is your fault, y'know that?"

"Oh fuck off," Hugh retorted. "It was stupid anyway."

"H-Hugh," Helen gasps through giggles, struggling to sit up. "Dad says y-you c-can't say s-stuff like that."

Hugh winces. "Right... five bucks so you won't tell the 'rents?"

"Deal!"

At this point, Rosa's forced herself to stop laughing, simply because of how much her sides are hurting. Her lungs burn with the need for oxygen and her vision swims with tears. She forces herself to sit up, brushing popcorn out of her hair.

Hugh gives his sister a quizzical look. "Do you even still like puppet shows?"

Helen smirks. "I'm still entertained, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh  _really_?" Hugh grabs her and delivers a noogie that makes her squeal. She yelps and tries to push him off, mock whining, and the whole thing eventually dissolves into laughter.

There's really no question about it. Hugh is a good older brother. Most brothers would have gone through such an elaborate set-up for their siblings, wouldn't get along so well. But that's the sort of person Hugh is, really. He—

"You're staring, Rosie," Nate mutters gloomily from behind her. Rosa jumps to see him sulking at her side. He must have moved when she wasn't paying attention.

She huffs and says nothing. Hugh and Helen have untangled, and Hugh's thrown Miss Stocking aside, asking if anyone wants anything to drink. Rosa says Sprite, if they have any, and Nate grumbles something sulky about Diet Coke. After Hugh leaves, Helen turns to Rosa.

"Are you ever going to ask my brother out?" the girl says bluntly.

Rosa blushes. "U-Um."

Nate just rolls his eyes. "Good question."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It really speaks of their relationship the sort of stuff Hugh will go through for Helen.
> 
> Also, Nate gives everything 110%. No matter what.


	29. 28. Trikaideckaphobia (fear of the number thirteen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> N and Bianca talk about superstitions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: After the whole Giant Chasm incident, Rosa persuades Juniper to let N work for her so he won't be compelled to run off again and will have something to keep him busy.

"Why is Friday the thirteenth considered unlucky?" N asks.

Bianca looks up from her research notes. A while ago, N and Juniper had come to sort of weird agreement, and so he occasionally ended up accompanying either the Professor, the aides, or Bianca on research assignments. The Professor thought that someone who could communicate with Pokemon on a linguistic level might have some interesting insights. Bianca didn't mind the company. She could talk to her Pokemon all she wanted, but they could never really hold a conversation like N could, like another person could. It was nice.

"Well, thirteen is an unlucky number," Bianca says with a shrug. "And Friday the thirteenth... I dunno. Maybe it comes from Freaky Friday or something?"

He frowns. "'Freaky Friday'?"

"It's a body-swap movie." Bianca still remembers when Touko made them watch it as kids. Cheren and Touya had even had a mini-debate on whether or not the movie was stupid (Cheren thought it was, Touya didn't). It's still one of her favorite movies, to this day.

N arches a brow.

"I dunno if you'd like it very much," Bianca admits. "But anyway, maybe that influenced the superstition."

"How?"

"Uh..." Bianca doesn't know, honestly. "Pop culture references?"

N stares at her in total obliviousness.

Right... he probably wouldn't understand what that means. Bianca shrugs. "I dunno. Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious about the whole social construct. A couple days ago, I checked into a hotel at Driftveil and it didn't have a thirteenth floor." N frowns. "All the receptionist said was that thirteen is unlucky."

Bianca hums. "Yeah. Some people are pretty superstitious about that. I mean, I'm a little superstitious too, but not  _that_  much, and especially not about the number thirteen. Mostly because my family wouldn't celebrate my thirteenth birthday and I decided being cautious wasn't worth it."

N looks startled. "Really?"

"Oh yeah." And it had been disappointing, too, because that was the day she'd officially become a teenager and it had been a big deal to her.

N's brows furrow. "Does that count as triskaidekaphobia?"

Bianca huffs a laugh. "W-What?"

"Triskaidekaphobia," N repeats. "An aversion or fear of the number thirteen."

"Probably." She giggles. "It's a silly word, though."

"A bit," N admits with a faint smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think these two might get along.


	30. 29. Hourglass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touya visits home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touya and Touko's mom was a previous Trainer, and thus taught them all sorts of survival skills as they grew up. She's a tough lady—an artisan butcher, actually. The woman can skin a rabbit in two minutes and cook any type of meat. But she's also their mom and when Touya was in the hospital, she hovered so much it was stiffing. When he left, he was still pretty irked and never made an attempt to contact her (or anyone else, for that matter). By the time he got over it, he was too guilty and ashamed to make an attempt. He even avoided her for a while after he came back. Touko, getting tired of his bullshit, forced him to come back to Nuvema for the weekend.

It's a jarring thing, to see something new enter your childhood space. There's an hourglass sitting on the mantle, overlooking the fireplace, which Touya distinctly remembers not being there. You'd think he'd remember something that small and delicate-looking.

But things change, and it's just another reminder that it's been a grand total of two years, nine months, and three days since he last set foot in this house. Not that he's counting.

"When did you get an hourglass?" It looks good enough to be expensive, and Mom isn't the type to waste money on little trinkets like this. She's the practical type, the survivalist type, who used to pack light and travel the world for the thrill of it.

She laughs from the kitchen as she sheds her oven mitts, a freshly-plucked wild duck is cooking in the oven. It was probably killed this morning. "Oh. That was a gift from Jake."

Jake... Touya frowns. Didn't Touko mention someone by that name? Specifically in relation to how Mom was getting back into the dating scene. "...the guy you dated last year?"

"That's the one. He worked at a glass-blowing furnace."

"...cool."

They lapsed into silence. This is really awkward. It's been a couple weeks since Touya come back and he really should have been visited her first, but he didn't, and. Ugh. This is just so—so  _messy_.

He left. He vanished for almost three years. He didn't call or anything. Well, he didn't call  _anyone_  or write any letters whatsoever to  _anyone_ , but mostly not to her. Definitely not to her.

She must be so disappointed in him. So upset.

For some reason, she doesn't act like it.

Touya eyes the hourglass, watching the sand slide through the glass in a slow, silky trickle. How much time had she spent, he wondered, staring at this object, counting the hours, the days, the years that passed after he left?

What had it been like for her, when she got the call that he was in the hospital? When he was forced to awaken a legendary Dragon and become a Hero to save all of Unova from a well-intentioned extremist? When she found out he'd gotten himself entangled in a cultist movement?

"Sweetheart?"

Touya turns. His mom has abandoned the kitchen, and now she stands in front of him, her hands clasped in front of her. She regards him with a sort of sadness.

He doesn't think he's gotten any taller in the last few years, but she suddenly seems so small to him.

Without warning, she pulls him into a fierce hug. He forgot about these, the feeling of strong arms around him and warm shoulders for him to bury his face into. It feels like childhood, like nights spent falling asleep watching some movie and being carried to his room, like curling up on her lap as a toddler or like the nights he snuck into her bed because he'd had a bad dream.

He blinks, and he realizes his eyes are wet. "I'm—"

"Don't," she murmurs. "You don't need to apologize for anything, Touya."

"But... But I—"

"It doesn't matter." Her embrace tightens, and he hugs her back, burying his face in her shoulder. "All that matters is that you came back."

He hears her take a deep breath, probably to keep from crying, because he certainly is.

"Thank you for coming back," she whispers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me to some deep places, man.
> 
> Also! We finally get to see Touko and Touya's mom, Melaina. I've been working on her character quite a bit and I like her a lot.


	31. 30. Letters to the moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> N contemplates things in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: N has an eidetic memory.

It's when the moon is full and silver and filling up the window, on sleepless nights when the bed feels stiif and he knows the probability of sleep is small, that N remembers his travels. How strange it was, that the moon looked mostly the same no matter where he went. He likes to think it looks a little brighter here, in Unova, but maybe that's because he's finally found somewhere to settle down and stop wandering.

It was nights like this that N used to compose mental letters. An exercise to process his experiences. He used to pretend he was writing to Anthea or Concordia, to Rood or one of the other Sages, or even members of his final team.

Mostly, he used to pretend he wrote to Touya. He's not sure why, but he pretend-wrote Touya far more than the others.

He still remembers all of them, the countless fumbled beginnings before finding one he was satisfied with, the meticulously thought-over strings of words as he tried to explain...whatever it was he was thinking. Thoughts didn't translate into words so easily, not when he was talking to Touya, even if only in his imagination.

All of those drafts remain unfinished, to this day.

Being back feels strange. Being around Touya feels strange. After spending so long on opposing sides, it's odd to think of Touya as being on the same side as N.

The problem is—there are no sides. No truths or ideals for them to clash over. They are no longer Heroes or a King and a Knight. Now, they are just Touya and N, two people in this big, vast world. And in a world like that, things get lost in translation. Words get left unsaid.

N starts mentally composing another letter. It starts out like this:

**_Hello Touya. It's been so long, it's good to see you—_ **

**_Hello Touya. Oh, did you ever visit Ever Grande City? It's gorgeous in the summer—_ **

**_Hello Touya. How has Reshiram been? I know Zekrom dislikes enclosed spaces, so I wonder if Reshiram also—_ **

And then it turns into:

**_Dear Touya,_ **

**_How have you been—_ **

**_What place did you like visiting most—_ **

**_Why did you follow me—_ **

**_Why—_ **

**_I don't understand—_ **

And from there, it devolves into:

**_Touya,_ **

**_Do you also find it strange, talking so casually after all we've been through—_ **

**_Do you hate me—_ **

**_How did you feel, all those years ago, when we—_ **

**_I'm sorry—_ **

N slows down and starts over. This time, it's actually coherent:

_**Dear Touya,** _

_**I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I put you through. I don't think I ever told you that. I tried to, but you stopped me, saying it was all in the past. And it is—in the past. But I'd still like to tell you, because I want you to know that I didn't mean to scare you. I know you were scared. You didn't want to admit it, but I know you were. I think I was scared too, deep down. We were both mutually scared and neither of us wanted to admit it, and we were both gravitating towards an ultimate endgame, but I was the one who forced you into it.** _

_**You saved me. Do you realize that? If not for you, I would have remained a glass-eyed puppet for who knows how long. You showed me the world. You made me realize how beautiful it can be.** _

_**I still visit the castle sometimes because it's so hard to forget. It's all I've ever known for the longest time and now that I'm back in Unova it's hard not to go back. I battle Rosa there sometimes and every time I keep hoping—somehow, some way—you'll show up.** _

_**I want to tell you that, but you don't like bringing up the past. I told Rosa I'd tell you all this, someday, but the words don't come. Oh, Touya, I'm terrible with words. They get tangled up. I wish I were as good with words as I am with numbers or you are with pictures.** _

_**I envy you, sometimes. You have so much love in your life. I want to be part of that life—not a major part, if you don't want, but, I—** _

_**I—** _

And that one ends up unfinished too. The thoughts just don't translate right. Numbers are black and white, but feelings are shades of grey and color and...just overwhelmingly puzzling.

He sighs in frustration and looks back at the moon. N gets the feeling it's daring him, almost. To do what, he doesn't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. Something IsshuShippy.


	32. 31. Jupiter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa and Hugh spend the night on the lookout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Rosa is an astronomy nerd.

Rosa peers through the telescope, her fingers brushing the focus knob. She adjusts the focus until her view of Jupiter becomes brilliantly clear. It's a beautiful view—the striations in variations of tan and cream, and the big red spot on the equator—all surprisingly crisp.

"This is _awesome_ ," she murmurs, pulling away and turning back to Hugh with a grin. "Your uncle really let you borrow this?"

Hugh drums his fingers on the telescope neck, arching a brow playfully. "It wouldn't be here if he didn't, Rose."

She huffs and whacks his arm. "Funny. But seriously, this is a really powerful telescope. I can see Jupiter so clearly."

Hugh sneaks a peak. "Oh, geez, you're right. And that's weird, 'cause this thing is hella old."

"It can't that old." Not if it can focus so clearly on a planet so distant.

"Do you count twenty years as being old for a telescope?" Hugh asks, still peering through the lens.

"Are you serious?" Rosa gawks at the instrument. She doesn't know a whole lot about telescopes, granted, but that's a couple years older than either of them. That's prehistoric for a computer or a phone, so it's probably old for a telescope.

Hugh pulls away, smirking in a way that makes Rosa's heartbeat flutter. "Deathly."

Rosa laughs, feeling warm and content. She missed this, honestly. It's been quite a while since she and Hugh hung out together—not since their journey took them down different paths. Since the standoff in Giant Chasm and after Rosa challenged the Elite Four (and Iris for the Championship, only to decline), the only time they've really spent together has been for rematches every Thursday or with Nate acting as a buffer between them. Now, it's just the two of them, hanging out.

Just like old times.

Yes, they have both changed quite a bit in the last year. Their edges have been smoothed, and they don't quite click back into place like they used to. But it's close enough that Rosa almost feels at ease, at home. Even though nothing is quite the same, nothing has really changed.

"Why do you even like this space-stuff anyway?" Hugh asks.

She rolls her eyes. "I told you already."

He gives her a cocky smile that reminds her of the twelve-year-old that used to throw pebbles at her window late at night and used to bring her to the Outlook to stargaze, just like they were doing now. Only, now they had a telescope. "Remind me."

Rosa leans against the railing. The sky is black and glittering, vast and endless. "I dunno. I mean—it's  _vast_ , y'know? It goes on for miles, and it's always changing. But, it's also not. Those stars up there? The light has to travel thousands of years just to let us see it. And some of those stars might be gone, but we can still see them, y'know? And we'll keep seeing them for a really long time.

"Even that red spot on Jupiter! It's a storm system that's lasted for over four hundred years!" She turns back to him. "Can you imagine that we're looking at the  _same thing_  that people who lived and died a long time ago saw?"

"...that's actually kinda creepy." Hugh turns his gaze up to the sky. "I just thought you liked playing connect the dots with the constellations."

"Well." She drums her fingers against the railing. "I  _was_  always better at connect the dots."

Hugh frowns at her. "Yeah, but I beat you at Go-Fish."

"Jump rope," Rosa retorts smugly.

"Marbles."

"Freeze tag!"

"Dodge ball!"

They both started laughing, and Rosa nudges his side with her elbow. "I beat you at battling."

"...fair enough."

And they lapse into silence. Rosa looked up at the sky, and imagined she could see Jupiter's signature red spot from here. To all those who see it, it looks stable—but the storm rages underneath, fluctuation and wild, all sorts of elements bubbling and brewing—and that's what created the red spot in the first place.

Rosa can sympathize with that, the idea of things not changing on the outside but the inside changing, slowly but surely. She sneaks a glance at Hugh and wonders if he's ever wondered what's going on inside Jupiter's red spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these two. They have such a great dynamic.


	33. 32. Ballet shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa and Helen bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Unlike Flocessy, which is made up of working-class citizens (farmers, blue-collar workers, etc), Aspertia's society is made up mostly of the middle and or higher class. A lot of wealthy aristocrats will settle in either Aspertia or Undella, you see, because both have a rustic sort of charm that appeals to people of that class. And a lot of middle-class residents on the southwestern side of Unova prefer settling in Aspertia over Virbank (due to Virbank's numerous backalleys, a few teenage gangs, and the prevalent drug trade going on).
> 
> Because of this, it's sort of an expectation in Aspertia society that young women, as they grow up, are expected to indulge in at least one sort of "high society" activity, like learning to play piano or some other instrument or take ballet.

"Thanks for walking me to class, Rosa," Helen says brightly as they trod down the street at a leisurely pace. Rosa walks on the sidewalk, carrying Helen's bag of ballet supplies, while Helen makes a game out of keeping her balance on the raised cement curb that separates the sidewalk from the flowerbed.

"No problem," Rosa replies. Because her mom works long, erratic hours at the Pokemon Center, Rosa has often found herself left to her own devices. She was used to it. Rosa had grown into her independence as a child, and had even grown used to loneliness--until she met Hugh and Nate, the former of which managed to sneak away from his house with all the skill of grease-slicked Barboach, and the latter was in a situation similar to her own, parents who didn't have much time for their child. At least now, Rosa also had the option of dividing her time between training or working at PokeStar Studios in addition to hanging out with her friends.

Today is one of those days where their schedules don't line up—Hugh's off training somewhere and Nate's working at the Subway. They started out rare, but they've gradually become more frequent. It's days like this where Rosa often visits the ruins of the Plasma castle to see if N's there, because she's found that she's actually become quite close to the former king.

Anyway. Rosa had caught Helen on her way to ballet class, and she's not ready to head to the castle ruins yet (it feels like an act of desperation, sometimes. plus, there's a good chance N is hanging out with Touya, now that the Hero of Truth has made his "triumphant" return).

"So!" Helen shoots Rosa a look that sends Rosa's alarms blaring. "How've things been with you and Hugh?"

"Fine," Rosa answers quickly. Helen is way too perceptive. "How've things been with ballet?"

Helen's expression immediately drops, either from the tactful topic change or from the new topic, Rosa can't tell. But she goes along with the subject change regardless. "It  _sucks_. I hate that mom signed me up for it."

"That bad?"

"My instructor, like,  _hates_  me," Helen deadpans. "I'd rather be spending time with Bandit."

Bandit is Helen's Liepard, of course, who is still slightly feral. Rosa chuckles. "I get that. But Cheren says it's not safe to bring her out yet."

Helen hops off and joins Rosa on the sidewalk with a sigh. "I know... It's just way better than practicing Relic Song Formation No. 17."

Rosa winces appreciatively. "Oof. I remember that one. It's tricky."

Helen looks startled. "You know it?"

"Yeah. I took ballet when I was your age." And was also forced into it, like Helen was. Rosa is pretty sure she still has her old ballet shoes, somewhere. "Hugh never told you?"

"No! Was this before I was born, or was it when I was a baby?" Helen asks. "'Cause he doesn't talk much about stuff that happened when I was a baby."

Which was because Hugh wasn't always the great brother he is now and once sprayed cool whip in Helen's crib (luckily while she wasn't in it), which was just one example of the ways he might've tormented his new baby sister. Rosa doesn't say that, though. She'd promised not to. "I stopped the same year you were born. I hated it, too."

"Ugh,  _right_? Like, the instructor is  _so_  strict. Like, point your toes, don't slouch,  _get better_." Helen rolls her eyes. "It's the worst thing  _ever_!"

Rosa hums thoughtfully. "...we could ditch."

Helen stops and stares. "Really?"

"Just this once."

Helen grins. "You're gonna make an  _awesome_  sister-in-law, Rosa."

Rosa doesn't dignify that with a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is it already Thursday? Geez.
> 
> Helen and Rosa have a good relationship, guys.


	34. 33. Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is very short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Bianca is afraid of spiders.

Bianca shrieks.

Iris bolts into the living room of Caitlin's Villa. Caitlin is back at the League, claiming there was something going on but it was minor enough for Iris to stay with Bianca (and gave Iris a  _look_  that suggested she'd been talking to Shauntal), so it's just the two of them. Iris has a Ball in her hand, expecting a burglar or something, except she finds Bianca standing on the table, cowering.

Iris lowers her hand. "Uh, Bianca?"

Bianca points at the floor, whimpering. Iris follows her finger and finally sees something moving across the floorboards.

Iris blinks.

"...it's just a spider."

Bianca whimpers.

Iris goes over to the kitchen, grabs a paper towel, and comes back to smoosh the bothersome arachnid. After depositing the soiled paper towel in the trash, Iris returns and gives Bianca a  _look_. "You can come down now."

Sheepishly, Bianca does so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really don't know what to say here.


	35. 34. Silhouette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day Rosa and Touya met. Continuation of drabble 19 (Lucky rabbit's paw).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Rosa and Touya did not start off on good terms.

Rosa cannot believe she was so stupid.

She should have recognized him—Touya Kokuen, former Champion, vanquisher of the original Team Plasma,  _Hero of fucking Truth_ —but she didn't. Like, she should have guessed that from the way Touko and Bianca hover over him (Touko's  _crying_ —Touko  _does not cry_ ) and the way N just stands there and  _stares_ , mouth agape, like he's seen a ghost. Embarrassingly, Rosa doesn't put it together until Cheren comes and introduces them.

("Rosa Alanderfer, meet Touya Kokuen," Cheren says,  _casually_ , like that's a  _casual_  thing you say in a _casual_ conversation.

"Hero of Truth," N adds while Rosa's jaw drops, causing Touya— _Touya Kokuen!_ —to frown a little.)

Rosa has heard so many stories about Touya. The Hero, the chosen one, the one who carried Unova on his back, her  _predecessor_. Whenever someone spoke of him, it was always about what he did for Unova, how he saved the world, how he faced Ghetsis fearlessly and awakened the Dragon of Truth. He was Touko's little brother and Cheren's ex-boyfriend and Bianca's best friend and N's cosmic rival and—and—and—

He was this eidolon that haunted her journey, breathed down her neck and hovered, constantly. A silhouette whose features have been blotted out by a halo of glory until only a shadowy figure remained. She knew only his accomplishments, his legacy and name, but not his face, his voice, etc.

He's not as tall as she imagined him to be, oddly enough.

She holds her hand out, feeling dumb. "Rosa Alanderfer—I've heard a lot about you."

He accepts it, but his grip is a little tight, and his smile is not quite right. "Likewise."

Oh. He has?

She wonders if she was a silhouette to him as he was to her. His successor, the knight who fought off the shadows, the girl who turned down the Championship—

_Who cleaned up his mess._

"Good things I hope," she says brightly.

"I heard you saved Unova," is his smooth reply. He lets go of her hand and she lets it drop.

"Well—Unova, the world." She's not bragging. She just feels like she should be acknowledged for walking through hell and almost getting impaled by icicles. It needs to have been worth it.

But Touya clucks his tongue. "Hardly."

Something in the air shifts. Rosa's smile tightens. "Sorry?"

"Well—from what I heard, I doubt Kyurem had the power to freeze the whole region in one blast," Touya explains nonchalantly, "and Ghetsis was working with half the manpower he had from two, three years ago. He might've been able to take over a region or two, but the whole world? I  _highly_  doubt it."

Rosa's hackles raise. "Oh?"

He's wrong. She didn't wade through sewage in Castelia for no reason. Didn't invade the Plasma Frigate, didn't fight a morally ambiguous scientist with a weird hairdo for no reason.

"I mean, I didn't either," Touya goes on, oblivious to the way Rosa's eyebrow has started to twitch. "At best, the old Plasma had the resources to take over Unova. I doubt the rest of the world would have fallen."

At this, N frowns. "Excuse me."

"Someone else would have stopped you," Touya says with a nonchalant shrug, completely ignoring the fact that N probably shouldn't feel offended by that at all. "And then stopped Ghetsis—maybe."

Rosa's grip on her bag strap tightens. " _Yes_ , but you had Reshiram to help you."

Touya turns to her, arching a brow and looking unperturbed. "And?"

"And—I didn't have a legendary Dragon to bail me out." She had to fight tooth-and-nail against an unholy amalgamation of Zekrom and Kyurem in a frigid cavern, the memory like a brand-mark in the contours of her skull.

Touya smiles at her, but it's fierce, like a challenge. "Is that supposed to impress me, princess?"

Princess?  _Seriously_? This bastard had some  _nerve_. Unova's famed protector her ass! He bolted and left a bunch of loose ends for her tie up. And okay,  _maybe_  she's a little bitter about that, but she wouldn't have needed to do any of that if he'd just done his damned job.

Because no matter what she does, she's just the echo. A silhouette, a mere shadowy smudge, features blurred and burned away by his halo of glory. Everyone she's met has sung his praises, but no one mentioned that he was  _such a raging asshole_.

Because he is a legend, and can do no wrong.

Touko steps between them. "O-kay, I think that'll do for introductions."

"Y'know what? I just remembered I have somewhere to be." Ranting at Nate and his dumb horoscopes. Rosa turns on her heel.

"It was nice meeting you," Touya calls sweetly as she leaves. She hears someone smack him and he lets out a small "ow!", which she takes satisfaction in.

 _Likewise_ , she thinks, and doesn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know that person who gets amazing grades because of their insane overachieving tendencies and is sort of a smug teacher's pet, slightly condescending but without really meaning it? Well, that was Rosa growing up. She may be a poor loser and _sort_ of pissy at Touya for allowing Plasma to rise up again, but she's nice deep down and she means well.
> 
> And then Touya has his own reasons for not liking her...


	36. 35. Breathless (or breathlessly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: The Kokuen siblings have a weekly movie night tradition. Because N is living with them, he gets roped into this as well.

Okay, so. Um.

Last night, the Kokuen siblings made an effort to introduce N to movie night. No big deal. The only TV in the apartment is in Touko's room, based on the logic that she needed to occasionally curl up and drink wine while watching soap operas, which is why Touya has to sneak into her room when she's gone to watch  _Game of Thrones_  and  _House_  reruns. Anyway, Touko got a call saying that one of her coworkers needed help with some files ("Sounds mental," Touya remarked. "Hey, my job puts food into your mouth. Either get a job, move out, or shut up," she snapped back.), and so that left N and Touya, alone, to watch some cheesy sci-fi thing that they both fell asleep to.

On Touko's bed.

Turns out, N is a cuddler.

He's asleep, of course, and doesn't realize his face is nuzzled into the back of Touya's neck, and that Touya is currently playing little spoon. It's a good thing, too, because Touya's face is crimson-red, and his heart is banging loudly against his chest.

Touya gulps, trying to breathe and failing horribly.

So here's the thing—Touya is technically still a teenager, with hormones and a sex drive and everything. He is also very, very gay, and N is  _incredibly_  attractive.

Yeah, so.

 _Breathe, Kokuen_ , he tells himself as he inhales sharply.  _Just breathe._

This needs to stop, but a very (large) small part of him doesn't want to.

After about four minutes and thirteen seconds, his upstairs brain finally wrestles control. "Hey, uh, N?"

N grunts and nuzzles closer.

It is not that Touya objects to this or anything. He very much doesn't. It's just that it's—he sneaks a glance at the clock on the dresser—8:27 in the morning and there is a  _very_  high chance of Touko finding them like this, and knowing her, she'll whip out a camera and be able to blackmail him until the end of time.

That thought sobers him a little.

"N." Touya pauses. His voice came out breathier than he wanted. Kinda bedroom-voice-ish.  _Lovely_. He clears his throat. "N, you need to get off."

N mumbles something along the lines of "don't wanna". Touya shivers at warm breath against the back of his neck, and he immediately loses the ability to think.

Deep breath. "C'mon, N, please."

No response.

Desperate, Touya elbows him in the ribs.

That does it. N lets out a small "ow" and rouses, grumbling something about having a good dream. He sat up a little, rubbing his eyes, and then he went, "Oh. Hi Touya."

 _I am going to kill you_. "Just let go."

"Why?"

" _DammitNjustletgo_."

"Okay?" N sits up further and untangles himself from Touya, mercifully. He lets out a soft yawn. "Mm, did we fall sleep?"

"Yeah," Touya said, too quickly. N's hair is tousled in a way that is  _definitely not attractive **at all**_ and Touya's lungs aren't working right. He leaps off the bed. "I'm gonna get breakfast. Do you want breakfast? I'm making breakfast."

He bolts out of the room before N can respond and takes a minute to catch his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I wrote this.


	37. 36. Tachychardia (an usually fast heartbeat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa is Not Okay.
> 
> Warning for PTSD symptoms and panic attacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: After the whole Giant Chasm event, Rosa developed intense frigophobia.

_The hell is the thermostat_ _?_  Rosa wonders as she storms up the stairs. It's a hot summer day, the kind where you can fry an egg on pavement, and you don't usually get days like that in the mountains where Aspertia lays. Which in turn means that the AC in Rosa's house is blasting so high she's thrown on a jacket, mittens, and a scarf.

It's actually not that cold, but she doesn't realize that.

She finally finds the thermostat mounted on the wall upstairs and fumbles with the buttons through her mittens. Curses spill from her lip, and her teeth chatter—her heart is pounding.

In her mind's eye, she can see a glowing set of yellow eyes, feel a layer of white frost crystallizing in her hair, icy blasts that slice through her clothes. Her hands are numb. Her eyes sting. She hears a roar, smells ozone mixing with the sterile scent of winter and the dankness of Giant Chasm.

In the present, Rosa bangs her fist against the thermostat and bites down a curse. Her heartbeat screams in her ears.

_Deep breaths, Rosa, deep breaths._

She sees Kyurem's body writhe as it shifts and morphs, sparking and turning black. She hears it roar like a fucking monster.

Her heart won't stop racing, won't slow down.

Frost forms on her skin, her lips, clouds her eyes. Ice spreads from her veins, creeping with agonizing slowness towards her heart—which immediately freezes on contact. And now she's nothing but a girl-shaped block of ice.

She whimpers and falls to her knees, clutching her ears. Her pulse booms in her ears, thuthump, thuthump, thuthump. Kyurem's face swims behind her squeezed-shut eyelids, eyes burning with pain.

For about fifteen minutes, she stays like that, slowly rocking herself on her hunches in an attempt to calm herself, until her heartbeat slows to a regular speed and the panic subsides.

Rosa still feels cold, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Touya's not the only one with PTSD.
> 
> USUM comes out tomorrow! So I'm going to be hibernating for a while to play it, and I'm putting all my work on a week-long hiatus. The next update will be on the twenty-sixth. Thank you very much for your continued support and patience.


	38. 37. Bradychardia (a very slow heartbeat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa has nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Despite appearances, Rosa is Not Okay. She suffers symptoms of PTSD.

She's alive.

_Beat._

It's cold as hell and all the blood is frozen in her veins, but she's alive.

_Beat._

She's encased in ice, from head-to-toe, but somehow, through magic or some weird cryogenic science, she's still alive.

_Beat._

She's frozen alive.

_Beat._

A statue of living ice—just like Ghetsis promised.

_Beat._

And just as promised, she watches. She watches as Unova falls and Kyurem overthrows everything, as the world becomes only ice and snow and endless winter. And to this day, she continues to watch, the girl who failed.

_Beat._

She can hear her own heartbeat, soft and slow like a snowfall. It's the only way she can tell she's still alive.

_Beat._

She's in ice, but she's still alive.

_Beat._

She can't speak. Can't scream.

_Beat._

She can't even breathe.

_Beat._

She can only watch.

 

.

.

.

 

Rosa wakes up with a scream in her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey! Hi! Sorry for the wait and this totally insubstantial thing that doesn't make up for it at all. I've been busy with schoolwork, playing Ultra Moon, and writing my nuzlocke, so that's eaten into my time. Thankfully, I do have a few of these drabbles pre-written, so I don't have to worry about setting time aside to write this...
> 
> In the meantime! Enjoy this sorta-dream-sequence and glimpse into Rosa's subconscious.


	39. 38. Inkspot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touko lies about wanting to study psychology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touko is prone to spontaneity. Touya rarely questions it when she suddenly decides to do something with absolutely no explanation whatsoever.
> 
> She is also a spectacular lair.

"Why are we doing this?" Touya deadpans. He's sitting over on the couch while Touko waits for the printer to belch out the last piece of paper.

"Because I'm thinking of going to university and major in psychology," Touko lies smoothly. The last piece comes out, the paper warm and the ink still dying. She gathers the small stack up and saunters over to him. "I mean, everyone says that degrees are worth it, y'know? And how they open doors and shit. I want to do a test to see if it's worth doing."

He doesn't question her logic there. One of the many perks of the fact that they grew up together.

"Why can't you do it on N, though?" he grumbles.

She places her stack on the coffee table and kneels behind it. Luckily she'd already thought of an explanation for that. "No offense to N or anything, but his psyche isn't exactly what I'd classify as normal, and I need a control."

 _And he's also not here,_ she thinks but doesn't add.

"Cheren. Bianca."

"Working." Touko pulled the top sheet off the stack. "Look, it's a basic Rorschach test. It'll take ten minutes of your time at most. Suck it up, buttercup."

She showed him the sheet. "So? What do you see?"

"A waste of time."

"Bro."

"No, really," Touya says, his voice thick with sarcasm. "It looks like an hourglass with the time running out."

"Is that so?" Touko glances down at the sheet. It looks like a Woobat got squished on a windshield to her. No way he sees an hourglass. Maybe if she looks at it sideways?

He stands up sharply with a growl. "Of course not! This is  _stupid_."

"Not to me," Touko says defensively. And it's not. She is legitimately concerned about her brother's well-being.

"Go interview Rosa or something," Touya snaps, then storms out of the apartment.

Touko eyes her stack of inkspot papers with a sigh. So her plan to uncover whatever it was in his psyche that had caused him to draw those disturbing pictures had failed miserably, but hey, at least she got him out of the apartment for a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look. Regular updates. Crazy.
> 
> EDIT: Shit. It's only Wednesday. So, uh, early update?


	40. 39. Squirrel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Pachirisu gets into the Gear Station and wreaks havoc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Hugh is generally a very serious sort of person, but his temper is outrageous.

"I AM GOING TO  _KILL_  THAT FUCKING SQUIRREL!" Hugh roars, charging through the Gear Station.

Nate follows at his heels, desperate to keep his friend from possibly wrecking the Anville Subway tunnel.

Okay, in hindsight, Hugh probably wasn't the best person to help Nate catch the mischievous Pachirisu that somehow got into the station, and had chewed at the wires of the control panels--which had, of course, caused the system's power to cut out. Nate, like all the on-duty Trainers, had immediately been assigned to catch the rodent. Of course, he'd invited Hugh to run the double-battle train with him that day (because it was a slow day, and Nate needed to get his numbers up), and used his charm to persuade Hugh into helping him to catch the damned squirrel.

As you can see, it's very much a mistake.

Nate finally catches up to his friend and snags Hugh's sleeve, digging his heels in and forcing his friend to come to a stop. "Hugh," Nate panted—it's not that he isn't fit, he's just more pretty than athletic, thank you, "goddammit, man, calm down."

Hugh writhes in Nate's grip, and Nate can see the steam coming out Hugh's nostrils. "Lemme go, fucking—I'M GOING TO  _UNLEASH MY RAGE_  ON THAT BITCH!"

The Pachirisu pokes its head out from underneath the bench it had hidden under and chitters mockingly.

Hugh  _snarls_.

It is then Nate decides Hugh is truly to be feared. You'd think he'd have realized this after knowing Hugh for twelve years, but wow, it only hits him just then. But again, Nate is more pretty than smart.

"Hugh, we want to  _catch_  the squirrel," Nate says placatingly, "not blow it into bloody chunks."

Hugh's already grabbed a Ball. Nate whimpers.

"Please, Shaffer,  _don't_. If you blow up the Station, I am  _going_  to lose my job."

At this, Hugh hesitates, and Nate watches a glimmer of hesitation flash across his friend's usual enraged expression. Nate is not particularly good at begging, but it seems to do the trick.

"...fine." Hugh doesn't put the Ball away, though. "But I'm feeding that thing to Bandit once we catch it."

"Deal," Nate agrees, because he doesn't quite like Pachirisu all that much either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The infamous catchphrase!


	41. 40. Strobe light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimsley unveils his newest masterpiece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Each member of the Elite Four handles their own "branch". Grimsley attends to PR (press conferences, media coverage, etc), Caitlin budgets (the facility she managed at the Battle Frontier focused heavily on being pragmatic with one's resources, so there), Shauntal arranges special events (like tournaments and such; she also builds hype for it), and Marshal acts as a liaison to the Gym Leaders (basically, the Gym Leaders report wins, losses, and problems with their Gyms to him). The Champion is theoretically in charge, but Iris is a minor, so her "power" is more of the on-paper kind than the in-practice kind for right now.

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Iris asks. She usually trusts Grimsley's input on theatrics and decoration, because the man is a fucking PR wizard and he has a penchant for style that really is amazing, but Marshal is standing at her side and shaking his head emphatically, which means this is probably a very bad idea.

"Iris, dear, please don't doubt my taste in theatrics," says Grimsley rather airily. He flicks his scarf back prissily, standing straight and prim like a proper highborn gentleman (even though he gambled his inheritance away and got kicked out of daddy's will), which causes Marshal to roll his eyes. "At least allow me to demonstrate."

"Shield your eyes," Marshal mutters.

Grimsley pulls out a small black remote and frowns at his fellow Elite. "Hey, I didn't hear you complaining about those confetti cannons I had set up in your chamber."

Marshal grumbles incoherently. Grimsley is responsible for a majority of the interior decorating in the Elite Four (Shauntal's Will-O-Wisps, Caitlin's glittery veils, Marshal's confetti cannons, Grimsley's chandelier), and even helped to design Iris's Champion chamber. And even she has to admit what a fantastic job he did in that regard. This extra touch, though, seems a little much.

"But seriously, I think you'll like this." And then Grimsley presses a button.

Iris ends up blinking spots from her eyes after the strobe light display is finished, her vision swimming with afterimages of blue and green and red. Beside her, Marshal rubs furiously at his eyes and curses loudly.

"The fuck was that?" Marshal demands sharply.

Grimsley's silhouette becomes more defined in Iris's vision. He also seems dazed. "I... it seems I forgot to factor the, uh, reflect-ability of gold."

"Why do we even need to renovate?" Iris asks.

Grimsley sighs. "Because interest in the League has dropped again thanks to those Plasma bastard fanatics. Renovating Gyms and the Elite Four building tends to bring attention back to us, if only for the change in decor. It's a start, at least." He gestures to where the strobe lights were set up, behind the dias. "These are the only thing we have the budget for, however, in terms of renovations."

Iris frowns. It seems like an awfully trivial way to reinvigorate interest in the League. "Isn't there another way?"

Grimsley snorts. "Probably, but if you can think of a viable solution that won't backfire, be my guest."

Marshal rolls his eyes and leaves, muttering something about training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like being flamboyant.


	42. 41. Astronomer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa doodles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: The reason Rosa got into Pokemon training was the same reason Hugh got into it. After Bandit was stolen, both of them became very ardent in taking Plasma down. Nate, having set out on a journey just before then, ended up tutoring them about battling.

Nate watches Rosa as she maps constellations on a napkin. They're at a diner in Nimbasa after a long day fighting employed Trainers at the Gear Station, and it's late. Nate would normally consider this a dinner date, no matter how tasteless the food is in comparison to, say, a four-star stake joint, but Rosa was his best friend, and yeah, she's pretty, but she's been pining after Hugh for years and Nate knows when to back off.

The last thing he wants is to end up on the business end of Hugh's fist.

Anyway, Rosa maps constellations on a napkin. She always used to do that in school, when she was spacing out or had finished whatever busy work she'd been assigned. Girl is obsessed with constellations and stars and planets and everything spacey. It's why she added a Beheeyem to her team, even though those fuckers can rape your mind at their leisure. The thought freaks Nate out.

Nate watches her for a moment longer before deciding he's had enough of being ignored and snaps his fingers in front of her face. "Earth to planet Rosa, do you read me? Over."

Rosa huffs and slaps his hand away playfully. "Don't be a pain."

"Which constellation you doodlin'?" he asks, even though he can sort of see her napkin from here. It  _looks_  like Pyroar, but he might be wrong, because it's upside-down.

She sets her pen down. "It's the Litleo constellation."

"Oh." Nate was close. "So what's the myth associated with it?"

"There isn't one. It's not an ancient constellation—it was first made official by Johannes Hevelius, about three-hundred-and-thirty years ago. Richard A. Proctor tried to coin it as 'Luxio', but it never caught on, and it became the Litleo."

Nate snorts a laugh. "And astrology is less stupid than whatever the hell that was?"

" _Unlike_  astrology, astronomy is a  _science_ ," Rosa retorts coolly.

Nate smirks. "You're just sayin' that 'cause you purchased, like, three volumes on astronomy history or whatever."

Rosa looks annoyed. "It was only one. I learned the rest online."

Yeah, she would have definitely made a badass astronomer, if she'd stuck to her books of stars and planets and astroids. If Team Plasma hadn't shown up and mugged Hugh's sister, and Hugh and Rosa became way too serious for their own good and gotten obsessed with training (even Nate had that dream for a few years before them, but it was actually pretty awesome to not be the only one of his friends interested in a Pokemon-based career). Rosa could have been an astronomer and Hugh could've been a doctor, and they probably all could have drifted apart. Training kept them together, in a way.

It's all in the past, and Rosa's given up on carving a career path out of stardust and nedulae, but sometimes, Nate can't help but wonder  _what if_. It's just one of those things to mull over, when you don't have much else to think about.

Nate takes another swig of his soda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosa is actually talking about the Leo Minor constellation. It was made official by Hevelius in the year 1687. Proctor tried to rename it "lioness", but it stayed as Leo Minor. Yes, I did actually research this.


	43. 42. Fake quirks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa gets exasperated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Rosa works as PokeStar Studios as an actress in her spare time. It is aggravating but rewarding--but only if the director is competent.

"Fake quirks," Rosa repeats. She blinks. "The hell does that mean?"

The directors sighs impatiently, clearly annoyed at having to explain what she thinks is rather obvious. "Rosa, Rosa, Rosa—the woman you play, Esmeralda, she is not Rosa, yes? She does not do as Rosa does. She must be different, memorable. She must have something that makes her, her. Understand?"

Rosa massages her temple. Breathe, Alanderfer. Patience is key. You have boundless tolerance for idiots. "So you want me to create some outrageous quirk that will completely define my character?"

The director smiles. "Exactly!" She pats Rosa patronizingly on the shoulder. Or maybe it just feels patronizing. "Clever girl, they say you are expensive, but now I see why. There is clear talent in you yet!"

This is ridiculous. Rosa needs an aspirin.

"...okay. What sort of... 'fake quirk' are we going for?" she asks the director carefully.

But the director waves dismissively. "Ah, with your talent, I doubt you will have trouble figuring it out. Your choice!"

It's not that Rosa lacks creativity, but she's been burned by directors before who tell her to have fun with it, then demand the opposite of what she's come up with. The director is supposed to have some idea of what they want. It'd be so much easier if people just said what they meant and meant what they said, but ninety percent of communication is nonverbal, so you often have to read between the lines. Rosa, as an actress, has learned this. Has learned how to take those lines and bend them to her will, to portray emotion beyond the limits of verbal communication.

It's just...frustrating.

She sighs and rereads the script as the director goes over to consult her co-star. "Amor a Primera Vista", the script reads. It's a crappy romance story that forces Rosa to dress in the type of school uniform, collared shirt and short pleated skirt, that you'd see in porn. It's garbage, but she signed a contract for another series under this director and, just— _ugh_.

"Fake quirks". This director is probably the only person in the world to use that term. Rosa sighs again and massages her temples. She likes acting—she does. But only when the work she does is  _meaningful_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie Rosa is working on is actually from the game—Love and Battles.
> 
> Not much to say. See you Monday!


	44. 43. Contact lenses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touya and Cheren catch up on life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Whenever they got stressed out at home, Cheren, Bianca, and Touya would often just come into each other's houses, with little warning, for a pick-me-up. Because Nuvema was a small town and everybody knew everybody, that was considered pretty normal. Unfortunately, the three still maintain that habit to this day.

"So when did you decide to get contact lenses?"

Cheren sighs. Touya's hiding here at Aspertia, because apparently Touko's being extra annoying (which isn't surprising, because, y'know, she's Touya's sister, and she's Touko), and Cheren's allowed Touya to stay because they're best friends, even though their relationship is sorta strained. Anyway, Touya's staying here, and it's sorta weird, but it's a comfortable weird as well. And besides, you can't grow used to something until you get passed the awkwardness, and you can't do that until you do it first. So this is him, trying to get past the awkwardness, ease into the familiarity of having another person in the same living space as him, even if the house guest is only a temporary addition.

"A couple years ago," Cheren responds, only half paying attion. Touya's on the couch, sprawled out on his back and propped up against one armrest as he reads a book. Cheren is doing paperwork, because being a Gym Leader—big shocker!—takes a certain amount of  _work_  and  _investment_. This must be why they don't let kids younger than sixteen take the position. Cheren personally thinks that's still too young, but he supposes that, at sixteen, Trainers are more concerned with traveling and earning Gym badges than planning to give themselves out someday. Becoming a Gym Leader requires a certain amount of personal sacrifice, something a lot of Trainers that age aren't so willing to make. "Not long after I got the position. You'd be surprised how often my glasses would fly off in the middle of a battle."

He hears Touya snort a laugh. "Dude, I do. I battled you, 'member?"

...right. And more often than not, Cheren lost. He still remembers their first battle, Snivy vs Tepig, and Percival whacked Cheren's Tepig right into his face. Touya and Bianca had cackled like a witch's coven, while Cheren searched desperately for his lost glasses.

Yeah. Touya's an asshole.

"It's weird," Touya says idly. "I'm so used to you wearing glasses..."

Cheren pauses to look up from rows of battle statistics and peer at Touya. His friend's hat is barely visibly from the coffee table, over the back of the couch. Touya is mostly obscured, but his brunette hair pools on the armrest, and Cheren can see just how badly Touya needs a haircut. He's starting to resemble Nate a little.

"Is there a point to this conversation?" Cheren asks, not unkindly. He sets his pen down, wondering if they are going to get into the deep, long talk of the nitty gritty things they have both been steadfastly avoiding.

"No, just, kinda..." Touya pauses thoughtfully, looking for the right words. "Noticing how time has passed, I guess."

Here we go then, Cheren things and leans over the counter to fully face his friend. "So are we finally going to talk?"

A pause. Then, tentatively, "About what?"

"You coming back and expecting to pick up right where you left off three years ago, only to find out everything's completely different." Cheren has never been the type of person to sugarcoat things unnecessarily. Or, at all.

Touya bolts upright, his eyes wide. " _What_?"

"Touya, c'mon," Cheren says, a little softly. He searches Touya's face and sees everything. "I know you."

Touya blinks rapidly, then looks away, his jaw working. "I'm fine."

"...so you don't want my help."

Touya snorts, which is a definite no. Though it wasn't much of a question in the first place.

Cheren exhales through his nostrils and leans back into his seat. The documents before him make up a collage of the adult world, black and white, numbers and statistics and bland and boring. Being a Gym Leader requires personal sacrifice—no more traveling, no more fighting for leisure, constant work, maintenance of the Gym and team and managing Trainers. It is a headache, but he is proud of it. He made his decision, did so proudly, and accepts the consequences and responsibilities in full. "Fine. Your life. But, if I  _were_  to offer my advice,  _not that I am—_ I'd tell you that the past can't be recaptured, no matter how badly you want to. The best thing you can do is look back on it with fondness, but hold your head up and keep gazing at the future ahead."

When Cheren looks back at Touya, he finds his friend staring at him in abject horror.

"...what?"

"Who the fuck  _are_  you?" Touya gasps. "The Cheren I knew was standoffish and-and petty, and now you're all, like, mature and shit."

Cheren is simultaneously offended and flattered. It's a strange feeling. "That's what growing up is."

" _Still_."

Cheren shrugs. Touya shakes his head, muttering, and then lies back down on the couch.

Alder's conversation pops back into Cheren's mind and he sighs. "Hey. I, uh. Also wanted to apologize about—about before...y'know."

There's a long pause.

Then, Touya replies, offhandedly like it's no big deal, "It's fine."

The pause indicates otherwise, however, and Cheren shakes his head. Hero of Truth indeed. Touya could not have had a more fitting epithet.  "Well, I still wanted to say sorry. I never really said it before, so I'm saying it now. I'm sorry."

Silence.

"I accept your apology," Touya says quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks. Sorry for missing a post on Monday. I've been working on an ISU all week. No, there will not be a make up post. I barely found the time to post this today and I'm very stressed about the deadline.
> 
> Enjoy.


	45. 44. Siren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate meets a dynamite gal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Nate is a player. Always has been. Most of his history consists of flings, floosies, and girls he's generally never been all that interested. He'd never met anyone whom he's truly interested in.

Holy shit.

Nate's mouth is agape, and he swears to all the gods out there that the woman on stage is a fucking goddess, handcrafted by angels and sent down to earth to gift humanity with that lovely, mellifluous voice of hers.

Holy  _shit_.

Her name is Nancy, and she's hosting a free concert in the Gear Station. Some publicity thing. She's got rose-petal pink tresses that are curled and done up elegantly, and a gorgeous face that's only made all the more stunning by her angelic makeup. The song she's belting out sounds like liquid silver, like the heavens are cracking open and spilling out all around Nate, pooling and rippling and echoing all around, resonating, each note making the metal structure vibrate with a sort of life.

And then she  _winks_  at the audience, flashing a smile with glossed cherry lips and a sliver of pearly teeth.

Nate clutches his heart. That's it. He's in love.

If Rosa or Hugh were here, they'd have laughed at him, but Nate is in love and no one can convince him otherwise.

At the end of the concert, Nancy bows and thanks everyone for listening, then slips offstage like a mirage, like she was never there. Nate is moving before he can even register his own footsteps, pursuing a glimpse of petal-pink hair and creme ecru skin.

He finds Ingo and Emmet (his bosses) speaking to Nancy and some guy in a dark suit Nate assumes is her manager or something. Ingo is politely thanking Nancy for her performance when Emmet notices Nate, beams, and waves him over.

"And here's one of our Trainers now," says Emmet. Fuck. Before Nate can even think of running, Emmet is grabbing him and pulling him over. "This is Nate Linden. He currently holds the record for longest battle-chain of our employees."

Currently, as is in of the Trainers that the Station currently employs. The real record is held by Touko Kokuen, Nate's mentor before she was promoted to a desk job at the Battle Company. Which makes sense, considering who her brother is, so it must be in the blood. But, Nate learned from her, and so he's holding the record of current employees.

Anyway, Nate takes that as his cue to nod and smile, so he does. Nancy cups a hand over her mouth and giggles.

 _Holy_   _shit_.

She holds her hand out and flashes a smile that lights up her gorgeous blue eyes, cornflower blue, like the sky on an autumn day, kind of smoky and hazy and  _so beautiful_. And she has this little beauty mark under her left eye, barely distinguishable. But seriously, she's beautiful from afar but she's  _breathtaking_  up close.

"Nancy Silver," she says warmly. "Nice to meet you."

Belatedly, Nate realize she's expecting him to shake her hand. He grabs her hand (it is so soft and his is all sweaty, and is he gripping it too tightly?) and shakes it. "Hello. I'm Nate Linden, and, and you probably already knew that, b-because Emmet introduced me and, and..."

And he is shaking her hand for way too long. He lets go, clears his throat, and stuffs it in his pocket.

She giggles, that same tinkling laugh. "You're cute."

If he wasn't blushing before, he is now.

When they leave, Ingo gives him a scathing look. "Next time we entertain a celebrity, please keep it in your pants next time, Mr. Linden."

Nate's jaw drops, and Emmet cackles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to introduce Nancy. She's gonna be an awesome character.
> 
> Hey, 1000+ views! Thanks guys!
> 
> Also, change in the update schedules: from now on, _Let the dominoes fall_ will only update on Fridays.


	46. 45. Selkie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the last drabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: A lifetime of showbiz has made Yancy distrustful of people in general, but especially men.

There's a myth in Undella about these shape-shifting creatures called "selkie" that, by day, resembled ordinary seals, sleek and grey. But at night, they would shore up on the beach, shed their seal-skins, and from those skins emerged the most beautiful people imaginable, a type of fairfolk.

Yancy grew up on that myth. She quite likes it, associates with it. However, it's the opposite for her. By day, she is Nancy Silver, the popstar with the beautiful voice and a goddess among men. By night, she puts on a metaphorical seal-skin, becomes shy, plain Yancy Silverstein, and suddenly she is just another seal in the sea.

She's in the amusement park and wasn't expecting it to be so crowded. There are people everywhere, jostling her, jerking her. She wades through the crowd, gasping, and finally emerges. It's only after catching her breath and straightening out her clothes (habit), that she notices she's lost her hat. Damn.

She glances at the ground to see if it fell off, then pauses when a pair of red shoes enter her vision.

"Hey," comes a voice that is vaguely familiar. "Aren't you—"

Yancy glances up quickly, meeting brown eyes and brown hair and a face that is  _very_  familiar.

"—Nancy?"

She grabs him by the wrist and hauls him into a nearby photobooth before anyone else can hear.

"What the hell?" she snaps, whirling around. They are in an enclosed space that is very cramped and he is way too close to her. Belatedly, she realizes where she's seen him before--he's that boy she met at the Station. Linden or whatever.

He splutters, and his face turns pink. He really is cute, but that's not the point. "You're—What—"

"I'm  _uncover_ ," Yancy hisses. "No one can know who I am."

"So—So is this like s-some Hannah Montana shit, or—?"

Yancy silences him with a glare. "I do have a stage name, yes. I dress like this to get some time to myself and not get mobbed by fans when I go out.  _Tell no one_."

He nods rapidly, eyes wide.

She pauses. He looks on the verge of freaking out. Which makes sense, because she dragged him into a photobooth and started shouting at him. Right. Dammit, what was she thinking? If she plays her cards wrong, this could end up as terrible publicity for her. 'Crazy Popstar manhandles fan'—she can see the headlines now.

Yancy sighs heavily and massages her temples. "I'm sorry. I don't usually... yell like that. It's just, when you're famous, you get mobbed, and I don't like being followed. It's creepy and weird and can you please stop?"

"Wha?" He blinks. "I wasn't—following you. I just. Happened to be here."

Yancy eyes him distrustfully. She's heard that before.

"Honest to the Dragons," he says quickly. "I'm actually here to sub for one of Elesa's Gym Trainers who called in sick. I didn't—didn't even know you'd be here."

Oh.  _Oh_. Right. Subway Trainers also end up as backups for the Nimbasa Gym. It was an ancient arrangement that existed since the Gear Station first opened.

"Oh  _gawd._ " She buries her face in her hand. Wow. Okay. Yancy now feels like a total bitch. She just yelled at a perfectly innocent guy. What is wrong with her. "I'm  _so_  sorry. It's just, I'm super famous and I have all these fanboys and I  _never get a minute to myself—_ "

"No, no I get." When Yancy looks up, he's relaxed a little, enough to put on a faint, sheepish smile. "Perfectly reasonable explanation."

Her reaction, though, wasn't. And yet, he's... not mad. Why is he not mad? Why is he not lording this over her until she goes on a date with him or sleeps with him or something? Geez, maybe she's been hanging around with some shitty people. Showbiz was really awful for her faith in people. "...right. Look. Let's cut to the chase. What do I need to do to buy your silence?"

He blinks. "Silence?"

She wrings her hands nervously, biting her lip. "If people find out my other identity—like, the non-famous one—I'll never be able to breathe again. So whatever it is that'll keep this just between us, I can arrange—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" He holds his hands up in a defensive gesture, eyes round. "I don't want anything!"

"You...don't?" She squints at him, suspicious.

His eyes widen. "No!"

...huh. Weird. "Okay... but, you won't tell anyone?"

"Not if you don't want me to," he says at a length. He eyes her like he can't figure out if she's serious or not, or like he's trying to discern her intentions. She feels very exposed and uncomfortable, but on the other hand, he's not staring at her like she's insane, which is sort of a plus? Maybe? "I mean, I get that you have no reason to trust me or anything, but really, I've got nothing to gain from potentially ruining your life."

"You don't?" Yancy is pretty sure the blackmail option is wide open here and it is a very juicy vein.

He frowns and shakes his head. "Nah. If your cover's blown, you probably won't get a minute to yourself, and then, heh, you won't be able to find time to write songs anymore or something, y'know? And we can't have that, now can we?"

She eyes him suspiciously. "No, I suppose not."

He starts rubbing at the back of his neck. "Erm, my friend's sister is a fan of yours, by the way. I wanted to ask for an autograph earlier, but, um..."

Oh. Of course. That actually makes sense. "I don't have a pen but I can—"

"No, no, no!" He holds his hands up defensively again, palms facing her. "Bad timing. Really bad timing. You don't owe me anything--"

This is crazy. Everybody wants something. That's how showbiz works—but, y'know what? This is her night, her personal time, and she's not going to spend it wondering if this guy is telling the truth. She'll deal with this during work hours tomorrow. "I'm sorry, but, I need to go—"

"Right!" He laughs awkwardly and tries to press himself closer to the wall, as though he's afraid to touch her or something. "And I need to get to the Gym. Sorry for wasting your time—"

"It's fine," she says curtly, even though it's not, but it occurs to her that her hat is somewhere out there and her chances of not being recognized again will skyrocket once she finds it. "'Scuse me."

She practically bolts out of the photobooth and doesn't catch her breath until she reaches a nearby bench. With a sigh, she collapses and buries her face in her hands. Well, selkie girl, that went just  _swimmingly_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Nate, this is some Hannah Montana shit.


	47. 46. Comet in a bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa unearths something from her childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Once her parents got divorced, Rosa's dad tried to stay in touch with her. However, work began to get in the way, and then he got remarried (devoting more of his time to his stepchildren), so he spent less and less time with her.

When Rosa unearths a sealed, clear glass bottle full of some translucent indigo liquid, glitter and little metal stars, and a glimmering opal (spherical, casting shimmers of rainbow), she doesn't really know what to think at first. It's beautiful, really. It looks like it's been crafted with a lot of love and care. There's even a silvery ribbon tied around the neck of the bottle.

Huh.

She comes down from the attic. Her mom is there, relaxing on the couch in front of the TV after another long day's shift, and looks up as Rosa enters.

Her mom's eyes settle on the bottle and her brow arches. "Oh, found that, did you?"

Rosa blinks. "You recognize it?"

"You don't?" Her mother's brows shoot up. "It was a birthday present from your father."

At this, Rosa goes quiet. Her parents split up when she was little, and for a while, her father made an effort to connect with her despite the distance, but as time wore on, the contact started to trickle away until all Rosa got was a letter or two every year.

She eyes the bottle in wonder, and the memory suddenly blooms in the back of her mind, when he came to Aspertia that one time for her tenth birthday and hand-delivered it to her—she'd asked for a comet, and he presented it to her with a blinding grin and said that he'd caught one in a bottle for her.

It ends up on her dresser after that, and she peers at it every night before she falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I took the prompt rather literally.
> 
> It really sucks how fathers aren't featured in Pokemon (RSE/ORAS aside). Me and my dad are very close. Speaking of which, today is his birthday. Happy birthday Dad!


	48. 47. Yin-yang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting between old friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Rosa allowed Zekrom to roam Unova, due to never getting the chance while they were with N. Touya does the same for Reshiram upon his return. The action was also meant to symbolize that Unova was finally at peace.
> 
> And yes, both dragons are agender with neutral pronouns.

Reshiram lets out a low, rumbling purr as they apricate from their spot on the cliff. They stare out at the valley, the dips and folds of the Reversal Mountains. The sun is high in the sky and warm and golden, the sky cerulean with summer. They sigh contently and lower their head, drinking in the light.

The sound of wingbeats makes the ancient Dragon perk up. A black figure descends next to Reshiram, one that they know like the back of their wing, every black scale and crackle of electricity.

Reshiram lets out a crooning noise of welcome. Like them, Zekrom's Hero must have allowed the Dragon of Ideals to roam the land that was once theirs ("theirs", as in back when they were the same, when they were one), to observe whatever changes had occurred during their three-thousand-year slumber.

Zekrom returns her greeting with a grumble, and a confirmation that they were, in fact, wandering, traveling. They'd been spending their time with their new Hero—a girl named Rosa who had saved them from the icy void of their shared shell. Reshiram listens as their younger sibling talks a bit about the new Hero, the one who graciously accepted the title as the old one bowed out. Reshiram recalls the old Hero of Ideals, green-haired, capable of understanding them on a level most humans couldn't, and idealistic to the point of childish naivete. Zekrom claims that the old Hero is different now, but Reshiram would prefer to see that with their own eyes.

It occurs to Reshiram at some point while they talk (if an exchange of growls and purrs and coos can be considered a conversation from a human vantage point) that they've brokered a sort of easy peace. There is no urge to battle or war as they once had. Their Heroes are no longer diametrically opposed. Their Heroes are no longer championing truths and ideals. Now, there is just truth and ideals and the belief that sustains them, coexisting rather than opposing.

They are two sides of the same coin. This is a fact, a truth that Reshiram recognized long ago, back when they were new and naive and knew little. But now, as they stand on the same cliff and swap stories and watch sunlight bathe the mountain range, they can't help but think this truth has never been more definite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I get the feeling no one is reading this anymore. Oh well.


	49. 48. Samsara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> N and Touya discuss the afterlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touya is agnostic. N is curious about human religion.

"What do you think happens to us when we die?" N asks as they traverse the shadowy interior of Relic Castle. His fingers glide over the sand-battered walls.

Touya pauses, a few paces in front of N, and glances back at the former king. N's face is turned away, so Touya can't see his expression. He arches a brow. "Why do you ask?"

N is still not looking when he shrugs.

He is still confused, but Touya decides to indulge N nonetheless. He's long since found that simply complying is a lot easier, because either way they end up having the discussion whether Touya protests or not, and no matter how vehemently. It's just sort of the way things work between them, has worked ever since the old days when N was king and Touya was a random Trainer. Even still, it was how it worked, and it was one of the few "traditionally annoying" qualities N possessed that Touya was more or less neutral about (the rest of the list consisted of obscure mathematics references, the use of words Touya had never heard of before and would have to consult a dictionary just to understand, and his general over-literalness).

"Uh, well." Touya rubs the back of his neck. He's used to philosophical debates, of course, but this is heavy ground. He's not sure how to explain something that even he doesn't know much about. "It depends on who you ask. Like, if you're religious, you probably believe in an afterlife. Some people think you just... go. Like, it really depends on what you believe."

N glances at him briefly before going back to staring at the walls, the ancient pictographs and hieroglyphs, faded and weathered by time. "What do you believe?"

Touya blinks, startled. "Me?"

N grunts an affirmation as he nods.

"Uh..." Touya ponders that for a moment. He's never really thought all that much about an afterlife, or a higher power. He's an atheist, after all (or he was until a literal god was resurrected from a stone right in front of his eyes, and he still considers himself very much a humanist). And again, he is far from an expert. "I dunno! I kinda like the samsara one..."

N turns back to him, blinking. "The what?"

"Samsara? Yeah, uh, I think Iris told me about it once..." Touya struggles to remember. Most of it comes back as the ancient-pagan-lore lecture he'd gotten in Ophelucid, but he also vaguely recalls Iris mentioning reincarnation, as they sat alone on the cliffs that overlooked the so-called Valley of Dragons, a little hamlet town located deep in the cliffs and the wilderness of Route Ten. He remembers her legs swinging over the edge as they both sat and looked out at the sunset, the sky set aflame, the swell of tension in the air as the endgame crept closer and closer and they all prepared for war. "Yeah, it's, uh, the cycle of life and death. The whole idea of what is born from the earth returns to it. The mortal world is bound to this... this cosmic cycle of life and death and rebirth, and when we die, we get thrust back into the world and do it all over again."

When Touya finishes talking, he finds N staring at him in bewilderment.

"...okay what."

"For someone who doesn't believe in Fate," N says, very slowly, "you certainly have a grandiose idea of the afterlife and the cosmic workings of the world."

Touya both flushes and narrows his eyes. "I didn't say I  _believed_ in it, just that I thought it was a cool idea.  _God_."

"But that system implies a lack of punishment," N says, voice oddly sharp. "There's no—no consequences. No incentive to do right, or redeem, or—"

"Whoa," Touya interrupts. He and N blink at each other, and Touya feels dizzy, realizing with a jolt where this is going. "Are... are you talking about, like, hell and stuff?"

N averts his gaze back to the pictures on the wall.

"Holy shit." Touya feels like laughing, but he keeps it in, because it'd be incredibly insensitive. "Do you—do you honestly think you're going to hell, N?"

N simply grunts.

At this, Touya really does laugh—a slight discharge of nervous energy. He covers his mouth with his hand to hide it, but it spills out anyway, slips through his fingers like the sand leaking from the walls all around them.

N whirls around to glare at him. "It's not funny!"

He's right. It's not. Touya shakes his head incredulously, because he can't believe they're actually having this conversation. "Why would you even  _think_  that?"

"I hurt a lot of people," N snaps, then winces, a whole-body flinch.

Touya snorts. "N, you are the last person in the world who'll go to hell. Trust me. You're way too nice."

"That doesn't change my actions," N retorts, but he sounds more tired than angry.

"Which you're trying to atone for," Touya points out. It's a ridiculous notion. A reasonable, ridiculous notion. N does have a point, really, about how good deeds get you into heaven and how his past is pretty checkered. Just because you think you're doing right doesn't mean you are, and Touya doesn't even know how you get judged—actions, or the intentions behind them. "Just, it's not something you should worry about. Okay? Focus on  _this_  life."

N doesn't look very convinced, but he nods regardless.

Touya sighs and runs a hand roughly over his face. He wasn't expecting them to start off on such a deep subject. "Hey, it anyone's going to hell, it's me, okay? Heaven doesn't like gays."

N's eyes widen in horror and his jaw goes slack. "Is that  _true_?!"

...right. N and jokes don't mix. "Only if you believe the bible-thumping bigots."

N still stares at him with abject horror. "I don't want you to go to hell, Touya!"

Touya tamps down a rush of affection as he chuckles. "I'll be fine. Don't worry so much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember liking this when I wrote it, like, three months ago. Enjoy.


	50. 49. Reincarnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthea and Concordia ponder life beyond death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Anthea and Concordia are very close to one another, almost like real sisters.

"Do you believe in reincarnation?" Anthea asks idly.

Concordia pauses briefly in her sweeping—it's her turn to do this chore, according to the chart she and Anthea designed (because no way were they going to do everything, thank you)—and glances back at her sister. "That's an odd question. Where did you hear that?"

Anthea is folding laundry, and doesn't even pause her activity as she explains. "Well, yesterday, when N came by, he mentioned something Touya had told him--about a theory of reincarnation? I thought it was fascinating, and I wanted to know your thoughts on it."

"I'm not much for belief systems, Anthea." Not unless they can be proven. Whereas Anthea is a master of pathos and the appeal of emotions, able to bathe others in an unconditional compassion that Concordia cannot even begin to fathom, Concordia is a master of ethos and logos. She soothes raging hearts and ruffled hearts with calm, measured words, uses logic to keep her own emotions check and never loses her cool head. And logic doesn't support faith as well as emotion does.

"So you've never wondered about life after death?" Anthea asks.

Concordia shrugs, because no, she actually hasn't. Was that so odd? "I'd rather focus on what we do know rather than what we don't. Nine times out of ten, the unknown is rather terrifying."

"Well, I like speculating," Anthea says huffily. She drops a shirt onto the pile in a too-sharp fashion. "Don't you think it's a cool concept, though? Like, what do you think our previous lives were like?"

Concordia only shrugs again.

A mischievous smile flashes across Anthea's face. "Maybe we really are the incarnations of goddesses."

Concordia scoffs good-naturedly. Anthea knows as well as she does that the whole "goddess" thing was propaganda that Ghetsis thought up, the support of pagan-goddess figures from ancient Unova being reborn in the modern era to give credence to N's status as king. In fact, the translations were slightly off—"peace" was actually a mistranslation of victory*, and "love" a mistranslation of passion**. As children, Ghetsis had made it sound like a game of pretend, which Anthea had delighted in. Concordia had always been more skeptical.

The point, however, is that they aren't the reincarnations of ancient goddesses, and it's a silly thing.

But the speculation  _is_  fun, so Concordia sets aside her broom for a little while. "No, I think we might have been priestesses in a past life."

"Princesses," Anthea suggests with a laugh, delighted than Concordia is casting aside her serious disposition to enjoy the silliness for a little bit.

A smile twitches onto Concordia;' face. "Quite possibly."

"Oh! We could have totally been badass warrioresses," Anthea says excitedly, her eyes shining. "Archers or something."

"Mm. I think I would have been an archer--you would have been a nurse."

"Uh? What makes you say that?"

"Chores suit you," Concordia says with teasing sweetness.

Anthea squeals in mock-anger and Concordia doubles over with laughter. The two of them spend the next hour bickering playfully, the way sisters do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is late.
> 
> *Victini, the bringer of victory  
> **Meloetta, or the muse


	51. 50. Tarot card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate practices his newly-acquired fortune telling talents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Nate learns random tricks to impress girls, ranging from magic to palm reading to Tarot cards. He likes having to test it out on Rosa first (and she goes with it, because she knows there's no saying no to him), but she's also a skeptic, so he occasionally turns to a fresh audience.

"How exactly does this work?" N asks, bewildered.

They are at the Center in Nimbasa, a rendezvous between Rosa and himself. By chance, Nate happens to have a day off, and, according to Rosa, Nate was bound to intrude anyway so it's best to just invite him along. So here they are at the cafe section of the Center, and Nate is shuffling a deck of what he calls "Tarot cards" while Rosa takes a hefty swig of her latte as though it might be alcoholic and shoots N an eyeroll.

"I am going to determine your future," Nate announces with the utmost seriousness.

N blinks rapidly. Then he turns to Rosa, because he just has to ask. "Is he serious?"

Rosa sets her drink down with a heavy sigh. "Un-fucking-fortunately."

Nate has the audacity to look miffed. "Hey, this is serious stuff. Don't joke."

"It is hard not to joke when you seem convinced that mere cards can act as instruments of Fate," N drawls.

"Wow. Not skeptic or anything."

"Fate is an incredibly complex force," N retorts. And he is aware that he is being preachy and stubborn, but this is utterly ridiculous, so, for just a moment, he pretends he can't hear himself. "It cannot be determined by a mere fifty-two card deck."

Nate places the deck on the table with a self-satisfied smirk. "Well, this is only Major Arcana, so this is just the first twenty-two."

"Which makes it even less likely."

"Just go along with it so he'll shut up after," Rosa says pleadingly. And only for that does N silence himself.

Nate sets three cards ("One for the past, one for the present, and one for the future," Nate explains excitedly) in front of N and asks if he wants to include the reverse meanings or not. N has no idea what that means, but when he looks at Rosa, she shakes her head emphatically. So he tells Nate that no, he doesn't, and can we just get this over with?

"Your loss," Nate mutters. He turns over the first card over, which reveals the image of a tower being struck by lightning. N is stunned, not because he believes in the cards or is surprised that his "past" card is an image of seeming disaster, but because the tower in the image bears a striking resemblance to Dragonspiral Tower the day N first awakened Zekrom.

"So?" Rosa inquires, placing her cheek in her palm.

Nate clucks his tongue. "Can't say I'm surprised, given what I heard about what went down three years ago. The Tower Card, representation of disaster, upheaval, and tragic revelation. The crumbling of an ambition built on false pretenses. A—and I'm quoting this off the how-to cite I read—'momentary glimpse of truth, a flash of inspiration that breaks down structures of ignorance and false reasoning'."

It is absolutely  _chilling_  how fitting that is, how perfectly the symbolism of a supposedly "magic" card can perfectly sum up all his failings, the very event that rocked him to his foundation and caused his entire world to crumble. Touya would likely laugh if he heard this—the sort of dry, humorless laugh that N had grown used to hearing from him whenever that chaotic year is brought up. Touya is his Tower Card, a frightening but necessary disaster that shocked N out of his crumbling fantasy and thrust him face-first into reality.

N chuckles dryly. "Perfect."

Rosa casts him a look of mild concern as Nate turns over the next one, the "present card". This one is of a dancer clothed in nothing but a cloth that covers only one breast, and an image of the earth resides behind her. Nate smirks.

"The World Card," the Subway Trainer explains. "Completion of a journey, accomplishment, fulfillment, and reaping the fruit of success. Also, occasionally interpreted as the joy and anticipation of new beginnings after a previous chapter of life has come to a satisfying close."

"You're making this up," N accuses. There's no other logical explanation, no formula that can account for how accurate these cards are, how they can so concisely summarize N's life experiences. After all, he did just come from a journey around the world in order to learn and grow and change, and he'd returned with an immense feeling of accomplishment for having succeeded in that very goal.

Nate, however, holds his hands out placatingly with an amused smile. "Swear to god I'm not. And I didn't specifically pick these cards, either. That's just how Tarot works."

N is still skeptic, but he allows Nate to turn over the third card—it's an image of a naked man and woman, and it sends Nate into a fit of howling laughter.

"What?" N looks between Rosa, whose brow is slowly furrowing, and Nate, who is doubled-over in laughter. "What's wrong?"

"Holy  _shit_!" Nate clasps both hands over his mouth to stop himself from laughing, but all it succeeds in doing is make him look bug-eyed. "Um, t-that's... that's the—holy fuck, I can't  _even_!"

"Nate," Rosa says sharply.

Nate clears his throat and composes himself. "The Lovers Card. Now, I go over all the symbolism and shit, but the gist of it is, my dear green-haired friend, is that you're gonna find love and settle down and—"

"That's the most idiotic thing I've ever heard," N interrupts dryly. Why is he tolerating this? Nate's judgement is either severely compromised due to some outward influence or he is diagnosably insane. Cards do not map fate. This is utter nonsense and useless tripe and  _why_  is he sitting here, listening to this?

"This is the card that Fate has dealt you, my friend."

"It sounds like a load of bullshit to me," Rosa announces airily.

Yes, that's the word N's looking for—"bullshit".

Nate scrutinizes N a little too closely for N's liking. "So you're saying there's no one you have your eye on, romantically speaking?"

"Romantically speaking, no," N answers coolly. Romance is a concept he is, quite unfortunately, unfamiliar with. He's never had any experience with romantic love, and highly doubts he ever will.

That's not to say there aren't people N is close to—the young woman sitting to his left is a prime example. Rosa is the closest thing he has to a "best friend" and, despite the rough beginning stage their relationship suffered, she's become one of the people that N trusts most in the world. He knows that, without a doubt, she would stand by him, and he would do the same for her.

Now, compared to Touya, N's relationship with Rosa is far less complex. They're friends, care for each other deeply and platonically—and then Touya... Things always get tangled and messy when Touya gets involved. Complex history, enough baggage to bring you crashing down in a fiery mess, the memory of two opposites clashing, verbally fencing, sparring, back and forth, back and forth—

N eyes the card disdainfully, the man and the woman. If Touya were here, he would have called it out on the representation of heteronormative banality. Or something along those lines. Apparently the idea that love can only exist between opposite genders is an archaic notion, one that some people cling to desperately and use to hurt those they disagree with. "Unnatural", they say. Touya mentioned it, briefly and in passing, but N had been taught that human cruelty was a default and it still irritated him to hear that it did, in fact, live. Especially if it meant it was directed at people like Touya—Touya who is kind and passionate and brutally honest because he cares so deeply—simply for being themselves—

Nate watches N rather carefully. N pretends not to notice.

The Subway Trainer takes the tarot cards and shuffles them back into his deck. "Okay. Whatever you say."

For some reason, N thinks that Nate hasn't let the subject go, and probably won't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it just me, or are these drabbles are getting progressively longer?
> 
> I got the information off some website I forgot to link. Whoops. I'll try hunting it down later if I can remember.


	52. 51. Goldfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Everybody go out there and be with your loved ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touko was a bit of a wildcard growing up, but she was fairly responsible when it came to something was either passionate about or extremely motivated to to.

"Cheers boys!" Touko laughs, raising a glass of aged whisky. Her voice is of the loud variety, the kind that'll probably echo all throughout the bar, but she doesn't give a shit. Tonight is her night of celebration. The rest of the world can suck it.

Her friends laugh and clink their drinks with hers, letting out murmurs of congratulations. Touko feels a wonderful swell of pride in her chest—or maybe that's just the glass of hard whisky she's just had.

Touko grins and takes a shot of vodka, then slams it down on the counter. "Keep 'em comin', barkeep."

A hand on her shoulder. Russ, a furrow of concern crossing his handsome face. God, he's gorgeous. She sorta wants to kiss him. "Are you sure? Maybe you should slow down."

"I'll be responsible, don't worry." Touko waves dismissively. The floor feels unsteady. "You're talkin' to the new assistant manager a' the Competitive Sector at the Battle Company, good sir. An' they don't just give promotions an' extra responsibilities to people who can' handle 'em."

Russ remains skeptical. "...if you say so."

With that in mind, Touko turns to her colleagues, who have joined her in celebrating his momentous achievement, and cups her hands around her mouth. "Yo, everybody who works at the Battle Company! Drinks're on me!"

There is a collective cheering from her colleagues. Touko grins, triumphant.

Russ eyes her worriedly. Gorgeous, gorgeous man. The fuck had his wife been thinking, leaving him? "Yeah... You should stop."

She's ready to argue with him when her XTransceiver rings, and she holds her finger in a  _hold that thought_  gesture as she answers. Touya's face appears on the screen, seemingly sitting on the couch with his face set in a tight frown, and, for some reason, she finds it hilariously funny.

"Heeey, baby bro! Y'know, it's weird that you're actually using your 'Transceiver now." Now that he's not traveling all over the world searching for his royal boyfriend or whatever. "I'm still mad at you for that, by the way. Like, what the fuck, man? You just drop off the face of the earth for, like,  _three years_ , an' you don't  _fucking call_ , an' then you just, kinda—show up. Like, outta the fucking blue. You got a lotta nerve, an' I'm pissed, but you're my brother an' I love you an' I'm  _so_  glad your back. Did I tell ya that? I love you so fucking much."

"...okay?" Touya looks at her oddly, then scans her surroundings through the screen. "That... doesn't look like the office. Where are you?"

"The bar. I got a  _promotion_ , bro!" The barkeep sets down another shot and Touko downs it, savoring the fire in her throat. She wonders if she could breathe fire at this point, because  _damn_ , that is some strong liquor. "I'm assistant manager now. Queen of the fuckin' world!"

"...great." He squints at her. "Are you drunk?"

"Nooooo." Touko leans against the bar counter, which makes handsome Russ cast her another worried look. "I am responsible!"

"So responsible that you killed our goldfish when we were kids," her brother deadpans.

"That was  _one time_  ohmahgawd  _how DARE you_!" 

She is ready to scream at him some more for doubting her totally iron-clad responsibility when he glances somewhere off-screen, saying something she doesn't quite catch. Something along the lines of "yeah, she's on the phone right now", if her lip-reading abilities have any credence to them.

Without warning, N appears from behind the couch and peers over Touya's shoulder, chirping a bright "hello Touko!", but Touko doesn't notice because Touya is flushing and his shoulders have stiffened. She has no doubt it has to do with the fact that N is super close to Touya right now and her brother is  _so_  not subtle, and he should really thank his lucky stars that N is totally oblivious to all things romance-related to notice this utter lack of subtly.

"Ayy, ponytail!" She waves lazily. Their faces are blurry and the light from her XTransceiver is very bright. When did that happen? "What're you boys doin' t'night?"

"Touya and I just came back from grocery shopping," N explains, while Touya shifts, clearly trying to keep the closeness from bothering him. God, he's adorable. "We ordered pizza and now we're waiting for it to be delivered."

"Hold on." Her head is fuzzy, but she's pretty sure that if you have groceries, you don't need to order pizza. Pretty sure. "Why're ya orderin' pizza? Touya can cook."

N's eyes widen on the grainy screen and he turns to Touya in amazement. "You  _can_?"

"Every Trainer should learn how," Touya says in a petulant manner. "And we're getting pizza because N's never had it, so--"

Touko interrupts with a gasp. "Oh. My.  _Gawd_. That is a crime. Touya, get the man some pizza right now."

"That's what-- never mind." He eyes her suspiciously. "...how much have you had to drink?"

"Not a lot," Touko answers loudly. "Two drinks an', like, three shots. I think? Dunno."

N looks confused, but Touya rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Is there anyone else with you?"

Touko glances to her left. Russ is still watching her attentively.  _Eyes to yourself, pretty boy._ "There's Russ."

"Put him on the phone."

Touko thrusts the Xtransceiver in his face rather unceremoniously. "Hey, Russ, my bro an' his boyfriend wanna talk t' ya."

Russ gives her an odd look before glancing at the screen. "Hello?"

Touya says something she doesn't catch that sounds very snarky and makes her very mad even though she can't hear it, because he's obviously badmouthing her, the little shit, but the worst part is that Russ gives a "yeah, okay, will do". When Touko brings the XTransceiver back to her face, her dumbass brother has already hung up.

"What'd th' bastard say?" she demands. "Did he tell ya I couldn' take care a' my own goldfish? 'Cause I totally can! I am an  _expert_  at raising goldfish!"

Russ arches a brow. "No. He just said to get you home."

"But I'm not finished celebratin'!" Touko whines.

"Yeah, but I think you've had a little too much to drink," Russ says. He grabs her shoulder and guides her away from the bar. "C'mon. I'll call you a cab."

"Fiiiiine." She only goes along 'cause he's cute. "Y'know, Touya's a liar. I raised those goldfish so well. He's th' one who was like 'they're from the fair, Touks, they're not meant to live long', but I kept 'em alive for  _five whole weeks_ , so suck on that!"

"Sounds like you're very good at taking care of goldfish," Russ chuckles.

He laughed. He thinks she's funny. Great gods above.

Touko cracks a dizzy grin. She probably is drunk, or high, or something. Nothing else can explain the swell of euphoria in her chest. "Hell yeah I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cough cough shipping cough cough


	53. 52. Mirage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continues after drabble 45 (Selkie).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Nate often drags Hugh and Rosa into his crazy schemes.

"Remind me why we're running around an empty amusement park in search of a bonnet of all things?" Hugh drawls as he emerges from a photobooth Nate insisted he triple-check for whatever goddamned reason. He is honestly half-tempted to sock his good friend in the jaw, because there were discarded condemns in that thing and it was gross as hell.

Nate pokes his head out from underneath a nearby bench, looking both exasperated and desperate. Now, that's thing about Nate—he doesn't get desperate. He's the sort of person who maintains a false bravado right up until the very end, who'll crack jokes as he stares down death and let out nervous laughs even when the situation is so serious it makes your mind numb. Nate is a lot of things, but he doesn't panic or freak out. No, that's usually Hugh's job. In their little group, Hugh is the one who overreacts and freaks out and gets angry to the point of wanting to punch something, Rosa will try to maintain her composure and reason her way out of it, and Nate will crack jokes in order to lighten the mood.

So this freak-out right now is rather unsettling.

"We are finding this hat," Nate says with the utmost seriousness. Not Nate-seriousness, which is when he says ridiculous things in a serious manner to elicit a laugh, but real, genuine seriousness. And the only thing worse than freaking out Nate is genuinely serious Nate.

Hugh is officially unnerved. "Okay, but, why."

"Because," says the Subway Trainer evasively.

Hugh frowns. "Dude. C'mon."

"What?" Nate emerges from the bench with an uncharacteristic frown. "I'm not doing anything. Hey, did you check the photobooth again?"

"Three times," Hugh drawls. So much so that he could count the amount of junk in that thing and group it by color. "And clearly something is going on."

Nate looks past him. "Did Rosa say she found anything?"

"Okay, now I know something's wrong, see, 'cause you're not even making a decent attempting at lying about it."

Nate winces. "Okay, okay... Fine, you win. But—don't laugh."

"Is it a joke?"

"...no?"

"Then I won't laugh," Hugh says seriously, because he isn't the type to laugh at people's personal issues. Unless they're being stupid. Then Hugh will tell them so and tell them to stop sulking for no reason.

"I." Nate's face twists like he's mustering up courage. "...met a girl."

"...that's it?"

"That's it?" Nate repeats, sounding slightly offended.

Hugh facepalms so hard he can feel his skull reverberating. "Christ, Nate, the way you were talking, I thought it was something serious."

Nate balks. "This  _is_  serious!"

"Fuck off, Linden," Hugh says, crossing his arms. "You meet a girl every other week."

"This is different!" Nate protests indignantly.

Hugh rolls his eyes. Yes, he was willing to do Nate favors. But not if those favors involve scamming slutty waitresses with astrology or obscure romantic gestures for a girl Nate is never going to see again. "Okay. How?"

"She's..." Nate makes some wild, incoherent gesticulations with his hands. "I dunno! Different! She has the most beautiful voice..."

"She's a singer?"

Nate snaps his mouth shut and his eyes widened, like he's accidentally blabbed or something. Then he squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. If Hugh didn't know any better, he might've thought Nate looked  _frustrated_ , but Nate Linden  _rarely_  gets frustrated, so that can't be right. "Look, can you just help me? Please? I'm begging here."

And Nate also doesn't beg, so this is obviously something big. Hugh stifles a sigh. "Fine, fine."

"And don't tell Rosa," Nate pleads. "You know how she is about me and girls."

"Because you go through them like crazy?"

Nate glares.

Hugh holds his hands up placatingly. "Okay, okay. I won't say anything."

As if on cue, Rosa emerges from the nearby tent, ripping the flaps open with a sort annoyance that comes from an hour-long, fruitless search. She strides over with her irritation written all over her face. "Please tell me you found the damn hat."

"Not... really," Nate admits. Rosa's face twists into a deeper frown. "Hey, um, you can stop now, if you want. I can look for it on my own."

At this, Rosa becomes skeptical. "Really?"

"I'll help him," Hugh intervenes, so it looks less suspicious. Nate, for all his merit and tenacity, prefers not to do things on his own.

Rosa casts them an odd look before shrugging. "Meet me at the cafe when you're done?"

"Sure," they both answer, and neither of them brings up Nate's mysterious girl again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In drabble 44 (Siren), Nate briefly described Nancy as a mirage, so, this came to mind.


	54. 53. Filigree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Nate chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Nate came from a rich family.

"So how have you been, dear? I heard you achieved the best win-steak of the current employees at the Battle Subway. Is that true? Oh, Nate, dear, sit up straighter, don't slouch like a commoner. There! You look  _presentable_  now."

Nate hates Join Avenue. Utterly despises it. Detests it with a passion and would fling it to the pits of hell at the first chance he got.

If he had to name the specific reason, or reasons (yes, as in plural, there was more than one), it would probably be ranked like this:

One. His freaking stepmom. Her brother is the guy who owns the place, and they are a weird level of chummy that Nate maintains is highly unnatural, all touchy-feely and way too prone to complimenting one another. In his experience (which is, sadly, limited to the Shaffer siblings as he has no actual siblings himself, though he supposes he can consider Rosa and Hugh like siblings), normal siblings do get along but they also drive each other nuts in the process, so this weird thing between his stepmom and her brother is just flat-out weird. Plus the guy, Cartridge or whatever, also seems to be under the impression that Nate is his nephew, which is not true, because "step-uncle" isn't really a thing and Nate doesn't consider anyone from that side of the marriage family to him in anyway. Hell, he's not even on good terms with the relatives he shares blood with, much less the ones that weaseled their way into his immediate family.

Two. The atmosphere. Join Avenue was some freakshow amalgamation between a strip mall and the cute little shops you see in the Hamptons, the kind that rich people mill around in after a party but never buy anything. Half the customers are Trainers who are relaxing in the food court or treating their Pokemon at salons, enjoying the commodities offered to them for reasonable prices and swapping stories of conquests from their travels with one another. That half, Nate is okay with. He is part of that half, and has participated in the appreciation of commodities and swapped stories in the past. But it's the other half that irks him, made up of upper-class Nimbasan citizens who congregate here for the sole purpose of showing off their designer purses or their diamond accessories, to brag about their family's fortunes and the ridiculous number of luxury vehicles registered under their name. It reminds him too much of the neighborhood he grew up in, of the part of his childhood he tried desperately to block out—full of shallow white people with no regard for anything beyond themselves.

Three. The crowds. Nate is usually a people person. He loves people. He loves talking to people. Again, he interacts heavily with the Trainer population and part of his job as a Subway Trainer is to be amicable, to be pleasant to the person who has come in and is partnering with him during that particularly run. But  _again_ , half the people here are rich, upper class millennials who care more about their phone screens and getting likes and taking selfies with those ugly duck faces, and maxing out their parents' credit cards because they think that's a reasonable form of rebellion (you never bite the hand that feeds you, idiots), and it just drives him  _nuts_. The hustle and bustle of the Gear Station is an energized sort of crowd, the kind that consist of passionate Trainers eager to test their mettle against the famed Subway Bosses.  _Those_ are the people that Nate prefers, but here it's all lip gloss and credit cards and perfect hair and  _oh yeah well I have two Lamborghinis so that beats your three Mercedeses_.

He should have known better than to come here. This place is a death trap and of  _course_  his stepmom is here and of  _course_  she'd trap him into an afternoon of meaningless rich-people-talk while she sips bubble tea, her diamond earrings clinking like the sound a cash register makes with each innocuous tilt of the head. The only reason he's even here is because there's talk of the League organizing a "convention" of some sorts in order to reinvigorate interest (it actually sounds like a good idea, but why did it have to be held in this  _hellhole_  of all places?), and because the Gear Station is a League-sanctioned institution, the Subway Bosses are selecting some of their best to attend. And Nate, having the best win-streak of all the Subway Trainers, is practically required to attend.

"So, El," he cuts in. El is a young woman's name and his stepmother is no young woman, despite how she almost looks like one because the extensive plastic surgery to her more feminine parts and the countless face-lifts she's endured. Her real name is "Elspeth", but she's made it all-too-clear that she hates that name and wants to sound young and hip. God. "Uh, how's life?"

"As it always is," she answers, which means Pilates and caviar and a thousand beauty treatments to keep her looking like a good, beautiful trophy wife. "Oh! While I've got you here, can I ask a favor?"

"...sure." Because when it came to his family, they didn't really need you until they  _needed_  you, if that made sense. It was a sort of sick, twisted kind of selfishness that existed behind all the filigree and the white marble.

"Your father is hoping to make a movie series out of the famous Trainers," she explains. And Nate has to fight an eyeroll because his father is a PokeWood sell-out screenwriter that is way overpaid for writing cheesy summer blockbusters. If anything, the minute his father gets his mitts on the stories of the "Trainer heroes", those tales of heroism will end up hopelessly butchered into explosions and images of wet breasts. "Do you think you could talk to your friend Rosa into maybe signing a contract?"

"Oh, gee, El." Nate scratches the back of his neck. Rosa may be an actress, but no way in hell would she touch one of Nate's father's scripts, much less help write one. She strongly disapproves of him, and he barely tolerates her. It's the main reason Nate never brought his friends over during his childhood. "I dunno... Rosa's schedule's _pretty_ slammed—"

"Well what about the other one?" El presses. "The boy? The original Hero? I hear you're in contact with him."

Nate is getting a bad feeling about this. "Um—"

"Do you think you could arrange for him to meet with your father?" El's gaze is predatory behind her too-wide smile. "I'm sure he has some interesting stories to tell—"

Nate stands abruptly. "I have to get back to work."

"W-Wait," she calls, but he's already pulling out his wallet.

He slaps some cash onto the table. "That should cover my share. It was nice seeing you. Bye!"

He feels her stunned and slightly disgusted gaze on her back as he rushes to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea actually came up fairly early in Nate's development as a character.
> 
> Also, for a while, I swear to god I completely forgot Join Avenue existed.


	55. 54. Paprika

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, I have been looking forward to this for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touya and Touko's mother insisted on teaching her children how to cook because it's a valuable life skill. Particularly valuable if you're going to survive in the wilderness.

The aroma of herbs mashes with cooking oil, scents like thyme and basil and oregano and rosemary all blending together in a succulent medley that thickens the air in Touya's kitchen. Steam pours out from pots of gumbo and curry-bowls, wafts up from home-marinated shawarma and chicken-pot pies with cracking crust and honey-garlic ribs. And it isn't just main dishes, either—the island is lined with a kaleidoscope of various hor d'oeurves and appetizers, homemade salsa and tortilla chips, potstickers and jalapeno poppers and deep-fried ravioli, bruschetta and deviled eggs and tongue toast. Bianca hadn't even heard of that last one but it looked delicious.

Sweat slicks Touya's forehead as he slaves over a pot of venison stew. Bianca feels a pang of guilt at the sight, knowing that the only reason he is working so hard is because of her request, but she shoves it aside when he looks up at her. "Bi, can you pass me some paprika?"

She nods resolutely and throws open the cabinet. All the little plastic bottles are meticulously organized, but as she riffles through them, she finds to her horror that not a single one is labelled "paprika".

Biting her lip, Bianca glances back at Touya. The steam is misting her glasses. "Um..."

Touya glances up just as Cheren comes in with an armful of groceries. "I'm back! And, uh, I picked someone up on the way."

To Bianca's surprise, N pokes his head through the doorway. "Your sister sent me," the former-king explains (it's clear he's talking to Touya in this case). "She wants to know why you're not there."

Touya completely turns away from his stew to stare at N in shock. "What— Why did— Why—"

"She insisted that I attend the conference in order to 'get a better feel of Trainer culture'," N explains flatly while Cheren makes room on the coffee table for the groceries, his face drawn into a look of half-lidded annoyance. "I told her that I've been traveling all across the world to do just that, but she refuses to listen."

"Touko is Touko," Cheren sighs in a very knowing fashion, the kind of exasperation that comes from growing up with someone and knowing them like the back of their hand. "She doesn't care about anything contradictory you have to say."

"Sounds familiar," Touya mutters, low enough so that N doesn't catch the dig. But Bianca does, and she fights a snicker, because she recalls the days when N was still a stubborn asshole.

N eyes the cornucopia of food with mild surprise, brows vanishing beneath his bangs. "What is all this?"

An awkward laugh spills from Bianca's mouth, and she has to clamp her mouth shut to cut it off. The steam in the air is fogging her glasses. "I-It's a funny story—"

"One of the caterers for the event cancelled," Cheren interrupts, because unlike Bianca, his explanation will be succinct. He's unpacking the groceries, placing them carefully across the table with a methodical precision only he would possess when unpacking groceries. In total contrast, the paper bags fall forgotten to the floor. "So Bianca decided to emotionally manipulate Touya into picking up the slack."

"Hey!" Bianca yelps. Because, yes, she did ask Touya very nicely, and yes, she did beg a little, but it's not like she was aware of the guilt her puppy-dog eyes could inspire! If she really wanted to emotionally manipulate him, she would have played the "you've been gone for three years, you owe us" card, but she hadn't, and never would. That would just be cruel. "That's a completely inaccurate representation of the situation!"

Touya tosses a glare of mild annoyance between them. "Excuse you, I'm doing this out of the goodness of my own heart, thank you."

Cheren snorts incredulously at this statement. Touya scowls, offended.

N continues to eye the assortment in amazement, his gaze flicking from Touya to the buffet to Touya again as though he couldn't quite connect Touya to the steaming display. "I know you said you can cook but... this is remarkable. How many recipes do you know?"

"Lots." Touya stirs the stew vigorously, but Bianca notices a flush of color that she distinctly remembers not being there before. "Every self-respecting Trainer should learn how to cook. It's a matter of survival!"

Bianca and Cheren share a look, because neither of them have as broad a range of recipes under their belt as Touya (who was lucky enough to have a mother who was a former Trainer herself and could coach him in the matters of survival). Cheren could make ramen and a few things that required heat, but Bianca was always too fearful of accidentally burning something (because she did, embarrassingly). The majority of their diet during their journeys had been fast food, and restaurant cuisine when they managed to scrape up the money.

N, however, looks absolutely baffled by this statement. "While I was traveling, I usually just ate at restaurants."

Touya frowned. "Really?"

N shrugs awkwardly.

Touya eyes him in an odd manner that is the slightest bit disapproving, so Bianca decides to come to N's rescue just this once. "Well, I mean, how many kings do you know that can cook? I bet the old kings of Unova had, like, personal chefs and stuff, y'know?"

"Fair enough," Cheren remarks, and Touya reluctantly nods once in acceptance. N looks more indignant than grateful for her intervention, but he'll thank her later once she explains that Touya is a strong believer of self-sufficiency.

"Well, my mom forced me to learn to cook," Touya explains as he turns back to his stew. He says it idly, but Bianca can't help but feel like he's bragging a little. "Part of her whole 'inauguration into the world of Trainers' spiel. It actually wasn't as bad as I'd thought it'd be—Can someone  _please_  get me some paprika?"

"Er..." Cheren consults the plethora of food items he's organized (by color, because he's unbelievably finicky) on the coffee table. "I... don't think I got any?"

Touya groans loudly enough to fill the apartment. "Oh  _c'mon_!"

"I'll check again," the Gym Leader mutters in an attempt to pacify.

N casts a glance at Touya (agitated as he adjusts the heat setting on the stove), then at Cheren (grumbling to himself about how demanding Touya gets when it comes to cooking), then, to Bianca's surprise, ambles over to the coffee table and drops to his knees before it. Cheren arches a brow in pleasant surprise as N starts examining the items, taking some into his hands and frowning at them in a contemplative manner. "What does paprika look like?"

"It's a ruddy powder," Cheren answered, gesturing towards the "red" section.

With that, the two forage the groceries for paprika while Touya stirs, and Bianca just stands to the side awkwardly because the last time she was in a kitchen she burned things that did not normally burn. Seriously—she once burned a pot. She instead turns her attention to the stack of cloches she'd brought (Iris insisted, and Bianca was not going to deny her when she begged) and starts covering things so they won't cool too quickly.

N holds up a glass container with some russet-colored powder inside. "Is this it?"

Touya glances over his shoulder and his eyes light up. "Yes! Bring it over!"

N looks perplexed for a moment, like a deer in headlights, but Touya gestures urgently and snaps him out of his stupor. He leaps to his feet and darts around the island, arm outstretched. Bianca ducks out of the way so that Touya can deftly take the paprika and sprinkles it in the pot, stirring like a madman. Touya's ferocity unnerves her, and she's a little tired of feeling so useless, so she joins Cheren at the coffee table.

"Hi," she says gingerly.

The corner of Cheren's lip twitches into a welcoming half-smile, but he doesn't say anything.

Bianca glances back at the kitchen to see N peering over Touya's shoulder, expression riddled with intrigue. "What are you doing?"

"Making stew."

N tilts his head to the side in a curious fashion. "How does that work?"

Touya pauses and glances at him. Only half of his face is visible, but Bianca makes out a thoughtful look flashing it as he leans back. "Well, I could show you. C'mere." He takes N's hand, places it over his own, and starts stirring. "Slow, like this, so you don't slosh it around all over the place—but you have to keep it from burning."

Bianca watches Touya coaxing N through the process of making stew, the gentle patience with which he spoke and the smile the crossed his face and the way his eyes glowed—

She turns to Cheren urgently, her voice hushed and excited as she whispers, " _Oh my god, I think Touya has a thing for N._ "

Cheren gives her a look that is questioning her intelligence (but in no way serious, he is never completely serious when he's being condescending, no matter how good his poker-face is). "You're just now realizing?" Before she can properly process that comment, he turns back towards the table. "C'mon, help me sort groceries."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isshushipping from an outsider's perspective.


	56. 55. Everyone was dancing, but me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEY! I'm so sorry about missing last week. Honestly, I completely fucking forgot and it wasn't until the next day that I realized, "crap, I forgot to do this". I contemplated updating the next day, but I felt that was cheap, so here's two updates this week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: After the resurgence of Plasma, a lot of Trainers were reminded of the ethical dilemmas they faced two years back. This resulted in a record low interest in the League, comparable to that of two years ago when Plasma first emerged. To counteract this, the League has been funding various PR programs. Trainer conventions are one of these programs. Think of it like Pokemon Trainer Comicon.

The convention is packed, and Hugh has to hand it to Iris and the rest of the Elite Four--the place looked fantastic.

Join Avenue was divided up into several exhibits—battle fields for recreational use, advice panels from Gym Leaders, salons, food courts, a fashion show, panels for battle facilities (the Subway, Black Tower, the Battle Company, etc), a stand promoting the Daycare, a panel for Pokemon musicals (the ones from Nimbasa), and even a lounge where Trainers could just sit and chat. The lounge is dimly lit, "mood lighting" said Elite Grimsley with a wink, and the catering is delicious. He has to wonder where Iris found such a great caterer.

"Actually, Touya cooked half of it," N remarks. Touko forced him to come, but he seems to be enjoying himself, which Hugh is admittedly conflicted about because, yeah, N's nice and all, but he can't see the guy without thinking about the Team Plasma shit that went down. "I don't care for meat myself, but he's a phenomenal cook!"

Touya takes a long sip from the red plastic cup in his hand, and maybe it's Hugh's imagination, but he swears the other Trainer's ears were the same shade of red.

Rosa, meanwhile, coughs subtly and tactfully ditches her plate onto the nearby table. It's good food, but Rosa and Touya have some weird Hero-feud going on (in her defense, Touya  _can_  be a jerk sometimes, Touko even outright admitted it), and the last thing Hugh wants is to get in the middle of it. N got in the middle of it for a while and it ended so badly that it took a combination of Nate, Touko, Bianca, and Cheren just to pull him out of it again.

It was even worse when you considered how much they saw of each other, on account of the fact that she was friends with Cheren, Bianca, and Touko, and those three were spending a lot of their time reconnecting with Touya. Efforts were being made to try and keep them apart, but it just wasn't working. And Hugh honestly wished she would stop carrying around that tension and go back to being the easy-going girl with the brilliant smile and sparkling wit—

Who is his friend. His  _friend_.

"I saw that," Touya says in a manner that is teasing, but there's an edge to it.

"Bite me," Rosa hisses, making her hostility no secret.

The comment makes Hugh sigh and N wince visibly. There  _has_  to be a way to get them to get along. There just has to be.

Luckily, Nate slips into the lounge just then, wearing disgruntlement like a cloak. He looks ready to strangle, but hey, it makes for a good interruption and Hugh is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Can I hide here for half an hour?"

It's Join Avenue, so Hugh immediately understands. "Family?"

"I had to wait until my shift was over." Nate scoops a some punch into a cup and takes a long, slow drink.

Touya glances at Nate, then at Hugh, then turns to N. "I'm missing something."

N shrugs, also lost, because it's not like he knows the intimate details of Nate's family life. Rosa may be close to him, but Hugh and Nate are slightly more reluctant to approach him (Rosa has made several stinging remarks about that in the past and occasionally forced them to interact, and they put up with it because Rosa means well, and she's not wrong about N not being all villainy and shit).

The stage at the far end suddenly lights up, and the whispers in the lounge fall quiet. Hugh's brows rise. He hadn't noticed it before, but now that it is illuminated by stage lights (which he also failed to notice, which, wow, says a lot about his attention to detail), it's impossible to ignore. The red velvet curtains are too bright and heavy, and he catches an arch of light bulbs that hovers over top. It looks like something out of a casino or something.

"Is there a lounge singer booked or something?" he asks.

Rosa rolls her pretty blue eyes. "Yeah. I told you about it yesterday, remember?"

Yesterday they had talked over the phone. He remembers her smile and the lipstick she was wearing, but that's it. Whoops.

Touya rolls his eyes. "Oh, yeah, I remember Touko telling me about this. Some idol who got really popular a couple years ago. Like, around when I left. She made me listen to some of the music—god, it was all sappy pop songs."

"I happen to like pop songs," Rosa says defensively.

He gives her a dead-eyed stare. " _Why_."

"What are pop songs?" N asks just before a fight can break out. Hugh can't decide it if was purposeful or just his ignorance of human culture working to their advantage for once.

"I'll tell you later," Rosa promises gently.

Touya glowers and sips his punch.

"So who's this pop singer?" Nate asks. He has a grin on his face and seems to be enjoying the drama, the asshole.

"Nancy something," Rosa says. "I can't remember her name..." She glances at Hugh meaningfully. "I think Helen is a fan of hers."

"Oh!" Hugh suddenly remembers Helen blaring obnoxious pop songs in the morning as they were getting ready for school and singing into her hairdryer. "Nancy Silver?"

Nate does a spit take and coughs loudly. He thumps his chest twice, then turns to them with wide eyes. "N-Nancy— _Silver_?"

Hugh stares at him. Nate is flamboyant, sure, but this is an unnervingly dramatic reaction. "Yeah. I mean..." He turns to Rosa, both for conformation and so he doesn't have to meet the intense stare Nate is currently giving him. "That's the person who was hired, right?"

Rosa's brows furrow, but it's probably more out of confusion towards Nate and his odd behavior than a lack of remembrance. "Yeah. Why?"

Nate sets the cup down sharply, the punch visibly splashing. His expression has gone completely blank. "Excuse me."

Touya eyes Nate's retreating form with a frown. "The hell was that about?"

 _Good question._  Hugh has never seen Nate act so oddly—not discounting that time in the amusement park—

The curtains part and a girl with pink hair comes on stage, wearing a glittering silver cocktail dress with sparkling tassels that sway on the hem (which shows off a little too much leg, he'd like to add). She raises the microphone to her lipstick-reddened mouth with a wink. "Hello everyone!"

The crowd roars while Hugh is flashing back to Helen belting into a hairbrush and cringing. He loves his sister and all, but she's a terrible singer. Hopefully, Nancy is actually talented. At least in comparison to Helen. Hell, anyone is talented in comparison to Helen. N and Touya could probably sing a duet and beat Hugh's sister in karaoke contest.

Nancy Silver says something else that Hugh didn't catch. But then she starts singing a cover of some song that's very silky and smooth and wow, he didn't know she had that sort of vocal range.

N gapes. "She's amazing. Touya, how can you not like her?"

Touya looks mildly pissed off with the world. "Her normal stuff is crap."

"This is so pretty..." Rosa turns to Hugh excitedly, her eyes lit up sapphire and bright and beautiful. "We should dance."

Hugh almost chokes. " _What_?"

"Dance," she repeats. "Not like waltz or whatever. But, y'know..." She jerks her head towards the crowd, which have started to sway and move. Some have broken off into slow-dancing couples.

Hugh briefly imagines slow dancing with Rosa, one hand on her hip and--no. No, no no no no no. Rosa is his friend. His friend. Who is only even attracted to people she's been romantically involved with for a while. They are  _friends_. Have been since forever. He is not going to send her the wrong message and, even then, he can't dance. He'd probably end up stepping all over her feet, wouldn't be able to even concentrate because her being so close would--

"No," he says firmly.

She blinks in surprise. "Why not?"

"Just... just no."

"It won't be that bad," she starts, sounding a little hurt.

"Rosa, my answer is no," Hugh snaps. He's starting to clench his drink and makes a mental note to keep his temper in check. "Go—Go dance with someone else."

She frowns, then shrugs and turns to N. "N, dance with me."

N startles (and Touya stares at her like she's grown a second head, looking considerably more alarmed). "M-Me?"

"Yep." She grabs him by the arm and starts pulling him towards the impromptu dance floor. He lets out several bewildered protests, but they are drowned out when Rosa shoots Hugh a triumphant look. "I'll even teach you how to dance."

And then they are gone, and Hugh is staring in total bewilderment.

Touya, however.

"What the  _fuck_ ," he demands rather loudly. Too loudly. Hugh actually winces because he's shouting. He opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, seeming to mouth a variety of curses that Hugh is only somewhat familiar with. "How— Why— The hell— Sonova—  _Fucking—_ " A furious scowl suddenly overtakes his expression, his fist clenching around his cup of punch. Pink liquid spills out the sides and dribbles on the floor, unnoticed. "What the  _fuck_?!"

Hugh stares in bewilderment. Geez. Talk about rage.

Touya made several wild gesticulations with his free hand, alternating between outraged and bewildered. He finally settles on a dark, brooding glare and subtle growls in his throat. "Excuse me."

Hugh watches Touya storm out, then turns his gaze back to the crowds. Rosa is coaxing N into a steady two-step sort of dance, while N looks like a wild Pokemon trapped in a corner. Something like envy stirs in Hugh's gut and he drowns it with a sip of punch, and he's pretty sure his expression resembles Touya's right now.

It hits him then—Touya's jealous.

He dismisses it instantly, because it doesn't make sense. Rosa is a girl, Touya is gay. It's just not compatible. And besides, Touya seems to despise Rosa, if any of their previous interactions were any indication, with either Touko or N always having to mediate—

Wait a sec.

Hugh looks back and Rosa and N. This time, he looks not at Rosa, but at N.

Oh.

Well.

 _Actually_ , Hugh thinks,  _that explains a lot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this one.


	57. 56. Nameless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthea and Concordia backstory time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Anthea and Concordia were children that Ghetsis adopted off the street. He was planning to have them become admins or something, and was planning to adopt several children, of whom he would select a figurehead. However, before he could get too far into that plan, he found N. Things just fell into place from there. But this meant that Anthea and Concordia were sort of leftovers, and thus forced into subservient roles.

Her real name isn’t Anthea, just like Concordia’s real name isn’t Concordia. Those are old names, ancient names, names that were fitting for princesses or angels or something else as romanticized.

Naturally, that does not apply to them.

Anthea has few memories of her life before. It’s a blurry, fuzzy mess, and she isn’t exactly inclined to try and decode it. All she knows is that it involved makeup forcibly applied to her face and a vicarious mother who shoved her onto brightly lit stages with a fake plastic smile (almost as fake plastic as the rest of her, Anthea mused in hindsight), saying _you’ll do great, sweetie, you’ll be wonderful, we’ll be rich_. She doesn’t remember what the exact contents of the scripts shoved in her face were, the lyrics to songs she was forced to sing, or the steps to the choreography. She doesn’t remember the channel but she remembers the cameras and a host or two, and her mother almost always talking for her with a big, booming voice that spoke of motherly pride but sounded like hubris.

She ran away at some point. She knows that. She was wearing a pretty white dress that she tore on a fence and it rained, ruining her makeup. There is no memory as to why, what set her off—maybe she just got sick of it, maybe she and her mother fought, or maybe stage fright finally caught up to her. She’s not even certain how old she was, but she was young, pre-adolescent, maybe eight or nine. _Possibly_ ten.

There was a man with red eyes who found her, spoke to her sweetly. She was hungry and he bought her a slice of pie at the local diner, and she hadn’t had sweets in so long. It was enough to seduce her.

He asked, “Would you like to come with me?” and without hesitation she’d said, “Yes.”

The man took her to a castle fit for a princess and called her “daughter”. He took her to a room with a bunk bed and little blonde girl her age and left her there, saying he would return later.

“Hello,” she had said to the blonde girl.

The blonde girl was on the top bunk. She looked down at not-yet-Anthea, blinked once, then disappeared from view. “Hi.”

She would later learn that the little blonde girl had come from a family with a substitute mother who drank a lot, and a father too sick with grief to care. The little blonde girl, like her, had apparently grown fed up and run away, only to find she had nowhere to go. The man offered her a place to stay—“temporarily,” she emphasized each time she recounted the tale, “only for a little while, not forever”—and here she was.

Not-yet-Anthea remembered climbing onto the top bunk and plopping down with her legs swinging. “Do you wanna play a game?”

The little blonde girl looked up dully. She later said she felt she’d been here too long and wanted to leave, but the man always insisted she stay here a little longer. “What kind of game?”

“A pretending game,” she said. Somewhere in the back of her mind, not-yet-Anthea knew she should be outgrowing pretending games by this point, but she was always pretending and never for pleasure. It would be nice if it was just a game for once. “We can be princesses. Or—Or angels!”

“Or goddesses?” the little blonde girl asked, slightly intrigued. “My mom used to talk about goddesses. Old legends and stuff.”

When the little blonde girl said “mom”, she meant her real mom, the one that passed away. But not-yet-Anthea didn’t know that at the time, and saw no issue with it. In fact, being a goddess sounded awesome and beautiful. Very romantic.

“Sure! We’ll be goddesses sent down to earth to judge people, see if they’re mean or nice.”

At this, the little blonde girl sat up, intrigued. “What are we goddesses of?”

She thought about it for a while, before remembering the flowers her father used to bring her mother before her mother became all big hair and heavy makeup. “I’ll be Anthea—goddess of love! I judge the hearts of people and see how much they love each other.”

The little blonde girl giggled. “Alright. Then I guess I’ll be, um... Concord...ia. Like ‘concord’. That’s a word for peace.”

“So you’ll be the goddess of peace then,” the newly-christened Anthea decided.

The newly-christened Concordia smiled. “Sure.”

The personas stuck for a long time, so long that their old names were lost in the void of their memory, because after all, who would want to relive the misery of a past life? They became all-powerful, divine beings who chose to take mortal form, judging humanity from far away—or, so they tell themselves.

Yet they are helpless to watch as lightning cracks and the sky fills with fire. Divine judgement, a true goddess would reason. Even if it is one they consider a brother up there, caught in the battle between truth and ideals. All according to fate.

They never really stop pretending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look! Past tense! Weird, huh?


	58. 57. Debauchery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touya and Rosa have dinner together and discuss their less-than-stellar qualities. To cynicism and expensive wine. Cheers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touya has a very high alcohol tolerance (due to frequenting bars and purchasing alcohol in other regions), while Rosa barely has any tolerance.

Rosa has no idea why Touko thought this would be a good idea.

It’s a fancy restaurant. Really fancy. The kind where the waiters wear tuxes and the waitresses wear clean-pressed blouses and chignons. The kind where the tables are draped in white cloth and lit by candles, and the lighting is dim for the sake of ambiance. She feels underdressed in her simple sundress, but then again, this whole thing is pretty last-minute. It was only an hour ago that she got a call from Touko saying she had booked a dinner reservation at this place in Driftveil, and that if Rosa didn’t want to end up on her bad side, she would be there (and Touko was paying for the whole thing). Rosa chose not to get on Touko’s bad side, because Touko’s bad side is legendary, and also because the offer seemed highly generous—until she was seated.

Across the table from her, Touya glares. She tries to ignore him by staring at her menu and wow, everything is so expensive. If she were more spiteful, she’d order the most expensive thing just to hurt Touko’s wallet. Lucky for Touko, she’s more mature than that.

“Why are you here,” Touya growls.

Rosa flips the page. “Touko.”

“Figures.”

She dares to look up. “Do you know—”

“She’s hoping we’ll bond or whatever.” Rosa takes some satisfaction in the fact that Touya is heavily disgruntled and even more underdressed than she is. His jacket has a giant spot of mud on it that must have come from training. Luckily, she was working at PokéStar Studios today. “She knows you’re big star and won’t make a scene in a public place, and she’s probably got the wait staff paid to keep an eye on me so I don’t do the same.”

That is crafty and conniving. No wonder Touko thrives in an office environment.

“So what are we supposed to do?” she asks.

Touya shrugs.

A waitress with a practiced smile comes over to them. “Hello, my name is Alicia. Can I get anything for you two this evening?”

“Two vodka tonics, hold the tonic,” Touya says before Rosa can say anything. He turns to her, looking bored. “What do you want?”

Alicia looks so confused.

“Iced tea,” Rosa says in a more cordial tone while shooting Touya a peripheral glare. “And please keep the tonics in. We’re in a restaurant, not a _bar_.”

Touya grumbles something particularly scathing and overall coarse. Rosa is glad she didn’t hear.

Alicia’s smile is off. “...Is everything alright?”

“Terrific! Couldn’t be better.” The sarcasm bleeds from Touya’s tone.

Alicia laughs awkwardly. “I see. Well, if it’s any consolation, you two make a lovely couple.”

Rosa nearly dies of a heart attack, right then and there, because dear god, _her and Touya as a couple_.

Touya puts on a crooked smile. “We’re _not_ a couple. Not in a million years. Not even if I was straight and she was the last woman on earth.”

Rosa kicks him under the table. Hard. He yelps. She hopes it hurts.

Alicia is even more confused than ever, but she tries desperately to maintain her façade. “Alright! I’ll go get those drinks,” she says, then bolts off as fast as she can in her heels.

“Nice,” Rosa drawls.

Touya rolls his eyes and picks up his menu.

She sighs. This is going to be a long night. “Look, Touko wants us to get along. How about we pretend that we did— _just for tonight_ —and then we can go back to hating each other’s guts in public?”

“We should both get the lobster,” he says, face buried in his menu and not even bothering to look at her, which is a definite _no, I will not make this easier on you_. “Most expensive thing on the menu. Stick it to Touks.”

That does it.

Rosa slams her menu down. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

He looks up, startled, the picture of innocence. “Me? Hey, I’m trying to find something we can both enjoy together.” He pauses thoughtfully. “As long as you’re not allergic to shellfish.” Another pause, this time with a devious glint. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Let’s get the lobster and you can choke on the tail or whatever.”

The corner of her eye twitches. “Why do you hate me so much? Like, I was fine with you until you turned out to be an ass, but you started it.”

Something changes about his expression and he sets his menu down, very slowly. “Maybe because you’re a sellout.”

“I’m _sorry_?”

“A sellout,” Touya repeats, slow and careful, but his voice is thick with rage. It’s as though he’s personally offended, or trying to defend some sense of honor (not that he _has_ honor, but still, the analogy stands). “I mean, _really_? Not only did you take a potshot at the Championship, you turned it down. _Turned it down_. Do you know how big a deal that is? The only person that’s ever done that is fucking _Red_. And then you go and become a fucking movie star instead. Your face is literally on every four billboards. Congrats, Alanderfer. You’re famous.”

Rosa takes a deep, deep breath to keep from exploding, then she tears into him. Calm, but scathing. “First of all, I didn’t take a ‘potshot’. I wanted to test myself and see how far I could get, but after talking to Iris, I decided that the life of a Champion wasn’t for me. Second of all, you did the same thing you goddamned hypocrite. And third of all, I _like_ acting. I like making movies. I’m passionate about it. It has nothing to do with fame. _Nothing_.”

“Right. Sure.” He grabs the menu and even before he opens it again, it’s clear the conversation is over. “How hungry are you? I’m thinking if we order lobster and fillet mignon, we can really rack up the price. Oh! Some of the deserts have truffles. At market price. Damn.”

Something in her snaps. She rips the menu out of Touya’s hands and slams it onto the table so hard the candle wobbles. “Will you fucking take me _seriously_ for once?”

He opens his mouth to fire off something scathing, but Alicia returns with a strained smile and their drinks. “Here you go,” she says in a tone of strained politeness. “Would you two perhaps be ready to order?”

“One sec.” Touya downs one of his tonics like a shot. Even worse, the guy doesn’t even flinch, which is crazy, because Rosa has heard how vodka can burn so what the hell. “ _That’s_ better.”

Rosa kicks him again and hopes it bruises. She turns to Alicia with an apologetic smile. “I think we’ll need a few more minutes.”

“But bring a couple more vodka tonics,” Touya says before the waitress can bolt back into the sanctuary of wherever waitresses go when they’re not waiting on you. There’s something evil in his expression as he flicks his gaze over to her, something that makes her fingers curl into fists. “And a Long Island ice tea for my _lovely date_.”

The utter contempt lacing the words “lovely date” make Rosa’s blood boil. She unwraps her cutlery to keep herself from strangling him, and briefly fantasizes about kicking him in the balls instead of the calf.

Alicia looks absolutely grateful to get the hell out of here.

Rosa pins him with a pointed stare. “I though Long Island iced tea was a cocktail.”

He flashes a grin that is far too wicked to be legal. “Well, I figured it would be so unfair if you were the only sober one.”

She makes a mental note to address the implications of that later, because that is wrong on several levels. “Touya,” she starts, voice low, “I’m not old enough to drink yet.”

Bewilderment lights his face. “I thought you were eighteen.”

“Next week.” She takes a quick glance around to make sure there aren’t any cops present, which there aren’t. Which is good, but that doesn’t mean they’re in the clear. “Right now I’m still _seven_ teen.”

“Oh geez.” Touya makes a noise that is half-side, half-groan, as he downs the second tonic. Again, without flinching. The hell is this guy made of? “It’s _one_ week, princess. I don’t think they’ll mind.”

She kicks him again (in the calf, unfortunately).

A different waitress approaches them with their drinks (Alicia likely bailed, and Rosa doesn’t blame her). Touya thanks her and then orders a bottle of wine.

“The most expensive one you have,” he adds with a maniacal glint in his eyes. The kind that screams either demonic possession or the beginning of a series of events that will lead to them being royally screwed.

Rosa waits for the waitress to depart before turning to him and deadpanning, “Touko is going to kill you.”

He downs another tonic and she is beginning to suspect him of being a high-functioning alcoholic. It’s the only explanation for why he doesn’t react to what is apparently very strong liquor. “It’s her own fault.”

Rosa sips her iced tea and doesn’t comment.

But then a burning sensation ignites in her mouth, catching her off-guard. She coughs, splutters at the unexpected sensation. Then she realizes Touya is cackling like the Wicked Witch, and too late she realizes she’s taken a drink of the cocktail.

Dammit. That’s it. She’s officially a participant in underage drinking. She’s going to kill him.

At her furious glare, the asshole has the nerve to burst out laughing, like this is all some giant practical joke. “Don’t look at me like that! You’re one week off. It’s negligible.”

“You would think that,” she grumbles, and makes a mental note to not let him order anything else containing alcohol. His speech is starting to slur a little—as amusing as a drunken Touya might end up being, she doesn’t want to be responsible for him. That’s what Uber is for.

“What? Are you implying that I raided my mom’s liquor cabinet and drank myself into a stupor?” His voice is too loud. She winces when other people glance at them, shrinking her seat because she doesn’t want to be associated with this hooligan, he’s not with me, damn you Touko for putting me in this situation. “‘Cause I didn’t do that. _Touko_ did that once. I mean, she gave me a little whisky to shut me up and I was like eleven—best night’s sleep of my life. But _I_ never did that.” He pauses to down another vodka tonic, still not reacting to what Rosa now understands to be a very powerful burning. She resolves to let that be his last drink. “There _was_ that time that me an’ Bianca stole a couple beers from her dad, though. It was the imported stuff, Stella Artois or something. Bi was really self-conscious, so I drank a whole bottle to show her it was safe. God, I woke up with the _worst_ hangover.”

Rosa has admittedly always suspected him of being a delinquent, but now she has actual confirmation. She just wishes her mental images of Touko and Bianca didn’t have to take a hit in the process. “How the hell did you end up as the Hero of Truth again?”

To her surprise, Touya bursts out laughing—but it’s harsher than it was before. “I have no fucking _clue_.”

She blinks.

“I mean—” He starts to gesticulate with his hands, clearly tipsy and yep, she’s definitely cutting him off. “I was fifteen. _Fifteen_. That’s, like, not the age you should be taking on supervillains at. That’s when you should be partying and dating and getting high, and I had to save the fucking world.”

There are so many things wrong with that statement that Rosa doesn’t even know where to start. She never did any of that wild shit at fifteen and looked down on those that did, even now. But something about what he says strikes her, makes her pause in consideration.

Fifteen, huh?

When she was fifteen, she was cramming for her license test, talking about traveling with Hugh. Plasma was still on the loose, and after the incident with Helen and Bandit, they had both resolved to take personal vengeance of Plasma themselves. Nate was against it, but he had just left himself and there was no voice of reason to mediate. Everything seemed set until—Plasma began to escalate, then the final battle took place, truth versus ideals, and in the wake of the disaster, the legal age was raised to seventeen. Rosa had cursed the League several times, knowing that it was all tied into a misguided (well-intentioned, she corrected herself) attempt to keep people safe. Plasma had been the reason for it, she’s always known that, but it just now occurs to her that Touya might be part of the reason as well.

He seems to notice her interest, because he snorts. “I’m not telling you more until you enjoy your cocktail.”

This strikes her, knocks her back into reality. Reminds her where she is and how she got here. “What? Why?”

Touya clucks his tongue haughtily. “Because sober people suck.”

Her first impulse to say hell no, but then she stops, contemplates. The events of three years ago have taken so many different forms. There’s the story the media spins, about heroism and daring and villains. There’s N’s version, defined by remorse and misplace hope that needed to die and cruelty hidden by righteousness. There’s Touko’s version, where she curses Plasma emphatically for fucking with her family and denounces all who are unwilling to express remorse. There’s Cheren’s version, a tale of weakness and strength and only too late learning what matters. There’s Bianca’s version, which features inner strength and wishing she could have done more. And there’s others, from Prof. Juniper and Rood and Anthea and Concordia. But never from Touya. When she wanted to hear his version most, he wasn’t there.

The time where she would have been interest in his tale has passed. Plasma is beaten into the ground, and she is no longer alternating between cursing his name and pleading for his return. But the tale is still there, unspoken, waiting to be told. She doubts he would be too inclined to share, especially with her of all people, once he sobers up.

But Drunk Touya is willing to talk. And damn if she hasn’t always too curious for her own good.

Okay then.

She sips her cocktail and fights the burn of alcohol. It’s easier when she’s expecting it, when she’s bracing herself and knows what it feels like. But her head still feels fuzzy when she sets it down again. “There. Now we’re both delinquents.”

He snickers. One of the "perks" of intoxication is that you find things funny that really aren’t. Rosa hopes she won’t be giggling like that soon.

The nameless waitress brings a bottle of white wine and Touya thanks her graciously. A polite smile flits across her red lips as she pours a glass for each of them. As she is about to depart, Touya stops her, flashes a charming smile that is clearly reserved for flirtation, and tells her to leave the bottle.

Once the waitress leaves (flashing a smile reminiscent of a schoolgirl, which makes Rosa roll her eyes and realize that not everyone has a good gaydar), he turns to her and raises a glass, wearing a shit-eating grin. “To the kids that saved the world when the adults didn’t do shit.”

Reluctantly, she clinks her glass with him and drinks. It’s white wine and it burns, tasting faintly like how she supposes shoe polish would smell. But it’s also smooth and surprisingly sweet, so she endures it.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she says, setting her glass down again.

Touya looks up at her in surprise. “Huh?”

“About the adults not doing shit,” she says. Maybe she pulled a lot of the weight, but she wasn’t alone, and she doubts he was either, especially given the stories she’s heard. “Touko says a lot of the Gym Leaders helped, and the Elite Four too. And Alder—he helped a lot. I mean, he helped me, too. And Iris got involved. People helped.”

His mouth sets into an ugly curl, something too nasty to be a sneer and is a far cry from a smile. “Yeah, but when it came down to it, I was the fucking ‘chosen one’. Like, the fuck? I was _fifteen_. Hell, I was an _atheist_. And then—oh, hey, you’re a hero of legend who has to ride on top of a fucking dragon god that isn’t even supposed to fucking _exist_ and look like something straight out of the fucking _movies_.”

Rosa watches dumbly as he pours another glass of wine. “You’re a high-functioning alcoholic,” she blurts.

He raises a glass, grinning sardonically. “To alcoholism.”

“That’s not something to be proud of,” she retorts, feeling the need to point out what a serious affliction that is while also praying to god that he is not one, and that Touko is not enabling them by paying for everything.

“Neither is saving the world,” he retorts angrily. His eyes smolder and Rosa is caught off-guard, startled by this sudden ferocity. “It’s all bullshit. Piling all that responsibility on your shoulders and expecting you to be okay with that. We were kids. We were _scared_. And all they do is give you a pat on the back and a big fucking glass of suck it up buttercup.”

“Well, I mean—”

Then she stops, realizing she was about to try and defend the apathy of the entire region, when she herself had cursed it out so long ago. Her gaze drops to her half-empty glass of wine, bewildered and slightly ashamed of herself, reflection staring back at her.

She remembers when Ophelucid was frozen, when Plasma Frigate came from the sky and rained winter down. She remembers sneaking onto the great black ship and then it crashing into Giant Chasm and Kyurem, baleful and screaming.

Rosa downs the rest of her glass. It burns against the memory of the cold. “No. You’re right,” she amends. “It fucking sucks.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m the Hero of fucking Truth, for fuck’s sake,” he says emphatically. His face suggests that he is remembering his own hardships, something that lies on the opposite spectrum of the temperature—burning fire and bright white, a grandiose castle in contrast to a dank cavern. “And you know what all of that did? Jack shit.”

“What?” That can’t be right. Maybe she misheard him?

“Nothing came out of it.” His face is red. He’s definitely had too much to drink, but the words are pouring out and Rosa doesn’t have the will to stop him. “Plasma came back and threatened the world _again_. I wasn’t there, so _you_ had to do it, pull my weight—which absolutely _sucks_ , by the way, I’m really sorry about that—but the whole point of defeating them the _first_ time was to make Unova _safe_ and even after I _did_ that, it _still wasn’t safe_. So basically, I didn’t do _anything_ right.”

She is stunned into silence. The confession, the apology, all of it. “That’s...”

“It sucks,” he repeats, breathing heavily. “You shouldn’t have to—if I’d done it right the _first_ time—”

If she is honest with herself, Rosa has thought all of this before. She mentally cursed him when she confirmed that Plasma had returned after all and had to bear the burden of “hero” herself, when she was scared and prayed for him to come back, reclaim his mantle so that she wouldn’t have to carry it anymore, then loathed him when he never came. But now, as she watches his heavy breathing and him glaring at his glass, she can’t find that earlier spark of blame and loathing and bitterness that haunted his memory inside her.

“It wasn’t for nothing,” she tries. “I mean, N—you helped him a lot. If not for you, he’d still be—”

“An asshole?”

“Probably.” She never had any contact with N prior to Plasma’s collapse and only knew of him through word-of-mouth rumors and message-board speculations on the internet. Only those closest to him like Touya could attest to how he was as a person. “And you saved a lot of people. Like, like—I met lots of people on my journey that talked about how their faith in training was shaken, and how they were going to release their Pokémon and, and, uh, stuff. But! But then _you_ proved that there _are_ good Trainers out there and, and you saved the economy too, like you wouldn’t _believe_ —”

“And what did they say after Plasma returned?” he challenges, voice cold and hushed. Bitter, rueful. It silences her. “Lives were threatened again. And do you know what happened to Route Ten? When Reshiram and Zekrom fought—the storm damaged it so badly it had be closed down. It wasn’t safe anymore. And they had to remodel Victory Road and everything.” He snorts derisively, as though the whole thing is just a terrible cosmic joke. “A lot of people were hurt by that. A bit of renewed faith from the population doesn’t exactly wash that away. And besides, _anyone_ could have renewed their faith in good Trainers. Alder or Iris or Touko. All I did was make a castle collapse.”

His pessimism is biting, cutting, stunning. Somewhere in the back of her going-fuzzy mind, she thinks _Maybe this why he’s such a jerk._ “But it _wasn’t_ for nothing. All of that—it’s _never_ for nothing, Touya. You impacted those lives. _You_. How can you sit there and say that’s not worth it?”

He stares at her quietly for a moment, then, with a flourish that he probably picked up in Kalos of whatever, takes his wine glass into his hand. “No wonder N gave you Zekrom.”

That feels like a punch in the gut. Sure, Rosa is an idealist, and she admits that. She likes to look past the way things are, to the way things can _be_. Some consider her naïve and she’s always had the presence of mind to ignore them. But here, now, coming from him—it stings.

“You can go ahead and say some shit about how heroes shouldn’t think like that,” he says, downing more wine. Not quite guzzling it, but it’s enough to tempt her to snatch the bottle away and pour it out all over the floor so he can’t get at it. Touko would thank her, too. “But I do. S’ if that makes me a shit hero, then ‘ine. Imma shit hero.”

“It makes you a person,” she offers, almost like a consolation. “Everyone doubts and gets angry and bitter. It’s normal.”

“Not for a hero,” he snaps, words slurred. “We’re supposed t’ be _better_.”

The truth hurts. He’s not wrong.

She finishes her glass while he’s pouring himself another. Part of her knows she should probably stop him, but a stronger part holds her glass out for him to fill. His eyes flick over to her, then he pours pale liquid into her crystal. It looks sickly, almost, the pale, dull yellowy color of fermented grapes.

“I mean, it is horrible,” she begins carefully. “Being held to those sort of standards. And I hate it. A lot of it. It’s terrible how heavy a pedestal can feel under your feet, y’know?”

“If I’d _been_ here, you wouldn’t’ve had t’ go through any a’ that,” he murmurs. The way he says it, it sounds like an apology, or a cheap platitude that falls flat in the face of something too big for it.

 _This_ , she thinks dumbly, _is why he hates me so much. Because we’re too alike for our own good._

But she shrugs and responds with a philosophical, “Maybe, maybe not. We’ll never know.”

He doesn’t look mollified, but he accepts her reasoning regardless.

“But I... still like to think it’s worth it,” she confesses quietly. It feels like a secret she should take to the grave, but she doesn’t want to be in the grave with that in her head. “No matter how horrible it is, no matter the outcome, so long as people are saved, I still think it’s worth it.” She drinks more wine and it burns, but it’s a good burn, a numbing sort of burn. It lets you know that you weren’t numb before. “But it’s over now, which is both good and bad, y’know? There’s really nothing to _do_ once the dust settles.”

His smile is not as sarcastic as before and derisive in a way she feels isn’t aimed at her. It’s like sharing an inside joke. “That why ya became an actress?”

She nods her affirmation. “I like it. And I could make a career out of it. It’s not about fame, but—it wouldn’t hurt to be a role model for others, y’know?”

Touya is quiet for a moment, staring intently at his glass. He swirls it in his hand, a slow, rhythmic clockwise moment. “...I don’t think I could stand t’ have so many eyes on me,” he says, and it sounds like a confession, like his own take-to-the-grave secret. “That’s why I ran away.”

This surprises her. “I thought you were looking for N.”

“That too,” he says hastily, desperately. Almost imploring, begging her to understand. And she tries to as he continues, tries to put herself in his situation, imagine herself in his shoes. “Believe me, I was. I searched all th’ regions for th’ asshole. An’ Ghetsis. I chased a few clues that led me t’ Sinnoh but that turned out t’ be a dead end, _big surprise_. Bastard probably _planned_ that. But—I mean, it was also ‘cause I was scared. An’, an’ I’ll admit, I’m not s’ good at dealin’ with, like, stress an’ shit. I was scared, an’ my first response was to run away, ‘cause I had no idea what the _fuck_ I was doin’.”

“Me neither,” Rosa admits. Her voice has involuntarily dropped to a whisper. “I still don’t.”

He looks at her for a long time, then says, “Neither do I.”

Silence.

Rosa looks at the glass in her hand and realizes it is exactly the same as his. Though the volume is different, the wine is the same—it’s a lame comparison and she’d probably call herself out on it if she were sober, but right now her head feels foggy and there’s a buzz in the back of her skull, and she really doesn’t care.

She raises her glass tentatively. “Truce?”

He tilts his head, and for a moment she thinks he’s going to deny her.

Then his mouth curls and he clinks his glass against hers. “I’ll drink t’ that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest one yet but I love it so much.


	59. 58. Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, apologies for the lateness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Kalos has the biggest tourism market of all the region, with Alola coming in a close second.

Bianca turns the page. The pages are glossy, the images big and bold and colorful. It's a travel guide, one that's geared towards readers who have a keen interest on exploring. Kalos in particular is highlighted throughout the articles. Fine print text detailed a place called Parfum Palace—it's history, it's magnificence, why it's the best destination for your Kalos trip this year!

Now, if Bianca is honest with herself, she isn't particularly interested in traveling beyond Unova. She likes Unova. Unova is beautiful and picturesque and the place where all her memories are, where she grew up and went out on a journey and found herself. Kalos sounds nice and all, very regal and majestic, but Unova is Unova, and Unova is home.

But on her last field assignment with N, he mentioned the various places he visited over the last two years. Before that, Touya had mentioned Lumiose City, the bright lights and the fashion and how he'd rented a loft for a couple months and the art museum (he went on emphatically about the art museum). And maybe it was nostalgia or whatever, but it stirred up that old sense of wanderlust in her, the one that had led to her out of Nuvema Town those few years ago.

She sighs and closes the travel guide. Kalos is a pipedream, and very romantic, but Lumiose is apparently a city for lovers and she's single anyway, so.

Her XTransciever buzzes with a text. It's from Iris. Bianca tells herself not to read too much into that, because she and Iris have been conversing regularly and it's not that big of a deal. It's not.

_how was ur day?_   
_—Iris_

_Fine. Prof is working on a project with fossils_   
_—Bianca_

_oooh! Like archeops n stuff?_   
_—Iris_

_Yep_   
_—Bianca_

_cool. Wat're u doin now?_   
_—Iris_

_Reading about kalos_   
_—Bianca_

_y?_   
_—Iris_

_Curiosity, mostly_   
_—Bianca_

_i hear kalos is really pretty_   
_—Iris_

_and the dragons are awesome_   
_—Iris_

_we should visit sometime_   
_—Iris_

Bianca pauses. She pictures her and Iris in Lumiose, eating at a cafe or visiting the critically acclaimed (by Touya) art museum or even touring Parfum Palace. She pictures Iris with a beret in her hair and her with a scarf tie, Iris and her sharing croissants and clinking wine glasses, Iris smiling in front of Prism Tower with the lights playing across her caramel face...

_I'd like that_   
_—Bianca_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff.


	60. 59. Exhale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of drabble 57 (debauchery).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touko doesn't know the meaning of "boundaries" and takes it upon herself to fix other people's problems. Particularly Touya's, because she's annoying like that.

“What,” Touko drawls in a slow, reprimanding fashion, “the fuck were you both thinking?”

Touya is sprawled out on the couch in the living quarters of the Plasma halfway house in Driftveil. His face is pale and he has his arm thrown over his eyes because, as he claims, the light is murderous on his corneas despite the fact that they have turned them down low to accommodate him. N is slightly worried because he looks ill, with his hair disheveled and pained moans rumbling in his throat, but Touko claims he is well enough to be scolded, and so she is scolding him.

“Be quieter,” Touya grumbles. Sound, he claims, is also agonizing, but the world does not be quiet because you say so.

Touko snorts. “No! I’m not going to be quieter! Do you realize how much that bottle of Chardonnay cost? Like, a thousand dollars! Who the fuck spends a thousand dollars on wine?”

“Only a thousand? Man, that restaurant cheaped out.”

Touko’s glare is murderous. N sincerely wonders how Touya is not cowering right now, because N is a grown man and he has the sudden urge to hide.

Rosa saunters in from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee in her hands. She places one on the coffee table in front of Touya with a murmured “here” that sounds deceptively gentle—N must have heard her wrong, or perhaps having a hangover makes one more sympathetic towards others of the same predicament—then eases herself into the arm chair next to N, nursing her own mug. N has to compliment Rood on the décor of this place, because it has a feel that is not-quite-medieval, but close, while also being quaint, old, and homey. Touko says this part of the halfway house reminds her of a hunting lodge. N would like to know how she knows what a hunting lodge looks like.

“May I remind you that it was your idea to have us eat there?” Rosa interjects quietly. Apparently, she had her own share of wine and alcohol. However, she claims her suffering is borne more out of the fact that she isn’t used to it than that she drank too much, as opposed to Touya’s case.

Touko glares, and N feels the need to speak his piece. “Why did you think that was a good idea, anyway?” he asks. “It was under my impression that you couldn’t force two people to get along.”

At this, Touko aims her glare at him. It is a glare that says she will defy the laws of the universe if she has to and will defy the laws of physics to get her way, that she will find a way to make atoms bond even if they are inert, turn water into wine or lead into gold. “Shut up, Ponytail.”

“You tell ‘er N,” Touya slurs. “Fight the power.”

N has no idea what Touya is talking about. Judging from the way Touko and Rosa sigh, he has a feeling he doesn’t want to. “I... will not do that, no.” He takes the mug on the table and holds it out for Touya to take. “Rosa made you coffee. I am to understand that coffee will help you, so, please drink it.”

Touya lifts his arm slightly so that N can see a single brown eye flicking over to the white mug. He has bags under his eyes, and the white of his sclera is veined by red capillaries. N is very worried—those are not the eyes of someone who is feeling well. Touya sits up and takes it. “Mm. Thank Rosa for me.”

“I’m right here,” Rosa says. Touya jumps.

“Fuck! When did you get here?”

“I’ve been here the whole time,” she says flatly, folding one leg over the over. She wears her visor to shield her eyes from the low lights. “I carried you into the house. I called you a cab. I brought the _takeout_.”

Touya blinks. “Okay, but I thought you went home or something.”

“Well I didn’t.”

“I know that _now_ ,” Touya grumbles indignantly.

“I think,” Touko growls, interrupting, “we’re missing the big picture.” She points aggressively towards Touya, her expression particularly fierce, teeth bared and eyes blazing. “ _This_ bastard conned me out of over two thousand dollars.”

N pauses at this. By overall human standards, two thousand is a small sum. It is not nearly equivocal to the cost of living, nor is it equivocal to the cost of life insurance, health insurance, and various other insurances that humans in Unova seem content with wrapping themselves in. But two thousand dollars is large if you were to see it in the form of how many rent payments it can encompass, how many meals it can pay for, or how much someone with a well-paying job earns annually. If viewed from that perspective, then the sum was rather massive, and could not afforded to be wasted on such luxurious expenses as wine.

Touya is seemingly immune and only rolls his eyes. “Thanks, sis. Love you two.”

Rosa chokes on her coffee, startling N. “ _How_ much?”

“Two and a half thousand dollars,” Touko snaps, hands curling into fists. “Half of that was the wine, by the way. Like, the fuck? You ordered something called ‘Domaine Ramonet Montrachet Grand Cru’. Like, that just _sounds_ fucking expensive. What were you trying to do—spite me?”

“Yes,” Touya answers without hesitation.

Rosa, meanwhile, leans back in her seat, eyes widening and mouth soundlessly tracing the words “two and a half thousand”.

N blinks at Touya. “Why would you do that?”

“Because she”—it is Touya’s turn to point at his sibling—“tried to set me up with Rosa.”

N turns to Touko in bewilderment. “What!”

“I wasn’t trying to _set you up_ ,” Touko cries defensively. N winces, because he is sure that the ex-grunts (whom Rood has, at N’s request, herded away in order to give them privacy) can hear them through the walls. The Kokuen family is an oddly loud bunch. “I knew that if you two were alone together for a while and, y’know—actually _talked_ —you’d find you have _a lot in common_.”

Rosa and Touya share a significant look. Rosa then lowers her eyes to her mug, while Touya takes a significantly long sip of coffee.

N is not well-versed in the art of social nuances, but he doesn’t miss it. He does a double take. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Rosa asks innocently.

“That look.”

“What look?”

“I saw you look at one another,” N says.

“We didn’t look at each other, N.”

“Yes, you did,” he insists. “I _saw_ you!”

Rosa scoffs and raises her chin, appearing offended. “You saw wrong.”

N’s brows furrow. The problem with Rosa is that she is a very talented liar. She is good at pretending and faking, and has even made a career out of it, becoming something called an “actress” thanks to her talent in pretending. There are times when she will act a way completely different from usual just to illicit a reaction from strangers, and it is impossible to tell when she is acting, especially for one as socially inept as N. But he knows she’s lying now, because he _saw_ her and Touya exchange a look.

He turns to Touya, because Touya is a poor liar. “What was that look?”

“There wasn’t a look,” Touya snaps defensively, which N has learned is code for _you’re right but I’m not going admit it because humans like to be stubborn_.

Touko scrutinizes them for a moment—then she seems to come to favorable conclusion, because a smile breaks out on her mouth and she crosses her arms almost smugly. “You two actually got along, didn’t you?”

N’s brows raise. Touya and Rosa exchange another look.

“That means yes,” Touko singsongs triumphantly.

Rosa lets out a sigh of resignation. “We came to a truce.”

A wave of relief crashes over N. Finally, an end to the petty mutterings and the thinly-veiled glares of contempt and the just-before-a-fight tension that always thickens the air. It also feels too good to be true.

Touko lets out a victorious laugh and pumps her fist in the air. “I _knew_ it! Am I a people person or what?”

“What,” Touya says flatly, to which Touko scowls.

N turns to him. “She said—”

“I know what she said,” Touya interrupts.

N doesn’t quite understand what that was about, but it does nothing to stifle his relief. “Well, I, for one, am quite glad you worked out your differences. I was getting worried.”

Rosa looks startled. “What do you mean?”

“You two were so at odds with one another, I feared being forced to choose sides in the near future.” N casts a look between the two of them, allowing a smile to reach his lips. “I am glad to see that will not be the case. You are both very important to me.”

Rosa looks touched. Touya, however, allows his eyes to flick from N to Rosa, then down at his coffee. N does not miss his frown, and wonders as to what could be the cause.

“That’s sweet,” Touko says. “But you guys still owe me two thousand dollars. So pay up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday the thirteenth!


	61. 60. Fortuna major

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of drabble 55.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Yancy doesn't date a lot because of how it will affect her career. And if she does date, it's mostly for publicity purposes.

There's something about the post-adrenaline of a performance. Something about the dying electricity, the slow descent from the high of being on stage and belting your lungs out, then transitioning back into another teenager wearing a too-short cocktail dress.

Whatever. Yancy thinks she did fantastic tonight. Everyone loved her covers, including her. Those old songs are so much more melodic and euphonic than the steaming crap they shove in her hands during the recording sessions. She wishes she could write music like that—music with meaning, music that will allow her to bare her soul instead of those stupid techno beats and basic melodies—

"No one's allowed passed this point, kid."

Yancy blinks at the security guard on the edge of the stage. He's fielding off some avid fan, by the looks of it, which isn't really surprising. Yancy deals with avid fans on a daily basis. But her fans are mostly preteen girls aspiring (for some reason) to be like her, and as far as she knows, there aren't any preteen girls here.

Or, hey, maybe it's a fanboy trying to get her number. That's not unusual either. She shrugs and accepts the glass of lemon water her manager hands her. Studies show that lemon water is good for your throat. Apparently.

There's an exasperated sigh, a moment of silence, and then, "Okay, but, can you just give this to her?"

Yancy nearly does a spit take. She...  _knows_  that voice.

"And why would I do that?" the guard drawls.

Her manager starts calling Yancy's name. She's moving towards them before she even processes her own footsteps, heels clacking against the wooden floorboards.

"Because I couldn't find the one she lost?" The voice is earnestly apologetic, and the slightest bit sheepish. "I, uh, figured she could use a replacement?"

Yancy can picture him—something Linden, young, overgrown brown hair, sweet smile. She can't remember the color of his eyes, but she's sure they were earnest.

And there. Standing at the threshold that separated backstage from the rest of the lounge and half-hidden by the hulking back of the guard. Brown hair, boyish face, dressed in quality-brand Trainer Gear that looks like he's trying to purposefully be flashy. Linden. He holds out a beautiful white sunhat that definitely looks like it came fresh off the store mannequin, and the way he holds it is awkward, sort of like an offering.

Yancy steps between them. "It's okay," she tells the guard. When he hesitates, shooting her a dubious look, she gives him the heart-warming smile she's mastered over the years.

He still looks reluctant, but he leaves. And now she and the boy are alone.

For a moment, neither says anything. Just staring awkwardly at one another. Linden averts his gaze, and there's color on his face. It's sort of cute.

"Hello," Yancy starts, because that's always a good way to start a conversation.

"Hi." Still not looking at her, he all but shoves the hat into her hands. "This is for you."

She blinks down at the object, puzzled.

"'Cause you lost the other one," he say lamely.

Oh. Oh geez. That is so unbelievably sweet. And from a guy who doesn't even know her. Heat rises to her cheeks and she looks down at the hat, looks down at this sweet, lovely gesture from a boy who hardly knows her, from a boy she hardly knows, whose name she can't even remember. Now that she looks at it, it is nearly identical to the one she lost.

He rubs the back of his head. "I tried to find yours, but I couldn't find it  _anywhere_. And I mean, I turned the amusement park upside-down! So, I bought you a replacement."

Well. Now she feels horrible for yelling at him in a phonebooth.

"Thank you," she says, and means it. Though she's not sure if words can properly convey her gratitude. "I— This— You didn't—"

"Well, I'm not gonna lie—my motives weren't entirely pure." When she blinks, he flashes a grin that is probably meant to be charming, but instead only comes off as nervous. "My friend's sister is a fan, so, if it's not too much trouble..."

All this, for an autograph. Geez. She smiles. "Sure."

Past experience translates to always having a pen on her. She asks one of the stage hands to a grab a sample of her latest album.

"What's her name?" Yancy asks.

"Helen," says Linden. "Helen Shaffer."

The album is handed to her, and she smiles pleasantly, thanks the stage hand—who gives Linden an odd look before vanishing. She writes "To my biggest fan, Helen Shaffer, Love, Nancy Silver", while dotting her "i"s with hearts and substituting the "o" in "love" for a heart. Because preteen girls go crazy for that shit, and it's become something of a habit at this point, even if she's thinks it's incredibly juvenile. All part of the image, after all. Everything for the image.

"Here." She hands it to him, and he accepts it nervously. He slips it into his bag and she watches him, watches the way brown hair falls over his forehead and brushes his cheeks and tickles his neck. Watches his brown eyes, the way light frames his profile.

He turned the amusement park upside-down in search of her hat, then bought her a brand new one as a replacement. He could have gotten an autograph from a signing or a public concert, could have even dropped off the hat then. But he came all the way here just to hand her a silly sunhat.

It was stupid and simple and _maybe_ just a little presumptuous of him, assuming that they would meet again. But—overall, it was incredibly sweet, and it was unlike anything anyone had ever done from her before.

"Do you have anything I can write on?" she asks suddenly.

Startled, he blinks up at her. "Uh... What do you mean?"

"A scrap of paper, a napkin—anything, really."

Puzzlement clouds his face—he's actually quite attractive, now that she thinks about it. Cute in a pretty-boyish sort of way. "Uh. Hold on. Um." He turns to his bag and starts rummaging around.

She waits patiently, refusing to think too deeply about what she's doing, refusing to second-guess because every part of her life has been carefully crafted, her career carefully maintained. She's never done anything reckless before, but then she slipped up and he—well, she wants to take a chance. Just one.

He emerges with a rumpled napkin, which he presents to her awkwardly. Flashing a smile, she quickly scribbles her personal number on the torn surface.

"I'm free on Thursdays," she says, handing it back to him.

"S-Seriously?"

Nope! He's not allowed to doubt, either. "Don't make me tear this thing up."

Eyes widening, he tentatively takes the napkin and stuffs it in his pocket. "Okay, uh. Thanks. Like, honestly, this isn't what I was expecting  _at all_ , but, uh..."

Her manager calls her name, and she sighs. Great. Encore time. Not that she minds singing the covers. She likes the covers. It's the stage persona that bugs her.

"I should go," Linden says, taking a step back.

And suddenly, she is reminded that she doesn't know his name. "I don't think I caught your name."

"Nate," he says, smiling weakly.

"Well, Nate, give me a call this Thursday, okay?"

"Yes ma'am!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not totally satisfied with this, to be honest...


	62. 61. Carpe diem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bianca tries to pry Cheren from his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Cheren is a workaholic.

"We're going to do something fun today."

Cheren peers up from his paperwork to see Bianca leaning over him, her glasses sliding off the brim of her nose and her mouth set into a stubborn pout. He's seen that look hundreds of times, mostly when she's trying to convince Touya to do something, because Touya almost always falls for that look. He falls for it, and Cheren doesn't, never has, never will, so he doesn't understand why Bianca is pulling it out when she  _knows_  it won't work.

His gaze drops back down to the forms. "I have work."

"Take a break."

"If I do that, I'll get fired."

"I'm friends with the Champion," Bianca insists. "I'll make sure you don't end up fired."

Wait— Since when do Bianca and Iris— Well, he knows they trained together in Castelia, but he didn't realize they still kept in touch. Then again, he was pretty far removed from current news lately, so if they had suddenly become best friends, Cheren could no longer count on Touya calling him up to gossip.

Whatever. Not the point. He takes a finger and slides Bianca's glasses back up her nose because they look like they're going to fall off and it's bugging him. "This is important paperwork. I can't just abandon it."

She puffs her cheeks out. "You've gotten boring, Cheren."

Well, in his mind "boring" is synonymous with "mature"—because a lot of things classified as "fun" are also ridiculously stupid and irresponsible—so that's actually a compliment, thank you. "Don't you have a job, too?"

"Juniper gave me the day off," she says.

"So you came here?"

"Well... yeah. I mean—I don't really see you that much anymore, so..." She looks away, biting her lip, her face flashing with guilt. Whether it's because she feels guilty for bringing up the subject, or because she's allowed her life to become cluttered as well, he can't tell. "I kinda wanted to hang out, like the old days."

Well— Wow, okay. Bianca is a master of the guilt-trip, whether she realizes it or not. He knows he's not the only one guilty of not reaching out, of allowing them to drift apart, but Bianca made a couple attempts to reach him in the past before she resignedly accepted their newfound distance (this being before Rosa came and mended their torn bond). But he has never made the same effort, and he is mostly to blame for it in the first place.

He heaves a sigh. "I'll be finished within the next hour. Then we can—I don't know. Shop or whatever."

A frown appears on her features. "Do you like shopping?"

"Not particularly." Cheren doubts there is a man on earth—straight, gay, or otherwise—who fully enjoys shopping.

"Then we're not shopping. We're gonna do something fun."

Or, irresponsible. Which, if he's completely honest with himself, doesn't surprise him, at this point. He's used to it, at this point, has practically spent his entire life being desensitized to Bianca and Touya's wild antics.

"Paperwork first," he says, and leaves no room for discussion.

Though she huffs, she doesn't protest. "Fine," she says lightly. "But when you're old and grey, you're going to look back and think 'I wish I didn't do so much paperwork'."

You know what? Fine. Fine. His back is starting to hurt anyway. He shoves the stack of files aside and lets his pen clatter on the wooden surface of his desk. "Okay, let's go."

She blinks, the emotion falling right off her face. "S-Seriously?"

He stands, grabbing his coat from off the back of the chair. "Yup. C'mon. Let's go have fun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really quick and short.


	63. 62. Que sera sera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yancy and Nate's first date is not what she expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Nate's fondest memories involve the bowling alley. His parents never took him, and he always went with his friends. It was one of the few times he felt like a regular kid.

Of all the things a first date could include, bowling was not at the top of Yancy's list.

Nate laughs at her shock. He's dressed in plain-looking sports attire, while she's dolled up in a nice sundress with coiffed hair. "You look like you've never seen a bowling alley before."

"Er." Well, no, she hasn't. Not really. She's heard about bowling alleys, seen them on TV shows and in movies—but she's never been to one herself. How could she? She was a musical prodigy, a bright-burning star that burst into the music business like a supernova, set the world aflame with the miracle of her voice. Someone of her star power didn't frequent something as pedestrian as a  _bowling alley_.

He laughs again. Not mocking, but amused, mirthful. "That's what I thought. C'mon."

Before she can ask about "what he thought", she's being dragged along to rent bowling shoes and then they've rented a lane, and she's staring at a rack of bowling balls as he lectures her about how to choose the proper weight. Part of her is inclined to choose the heavy balls, just because they're blue and blue is her favorite color (everyone thinks it's pink or purple, but it's actually blue, except blue doesn't sell to preteen girls, so everything is pink), and she doesn't really care about proper weight. But he has this strange crinkle on the left side of his mouth, and she pays attention.

She feels dirty, walking around in borrowed shoes. Picking up the bowling ball, slotting her fingers in holes that have felt the touch of thousands of grubby hands before her. She asks Nate if they washed the finger-holes.

"No idea," he says with a shrug. Like that's not completely unsanitary. But he's grinning before she can question him. "C'mon. It's your turn!"

Yancy Silverstein has never bowled in her life. She watched Nate bowl the first inning and is still totally lost.

This is completely embarrassing and totally unacceptable. "H-How do I...?"

"Bend over." Nate's voice comes from behind her and her face heats, because that it something of a double entente. She's not the only one who hears that right? Clearly not, because the next moment, he squeaks, "Your knees! Bend your  _knees_!"

She bends her knees. She feels completely ridiculous.

"Okay, um." She tenses when Nate's hands flutter over her wrist. "Your hold is pretty weak. And, uh, bend your back a little. You've got to stoop a little--if you throw it from this height it'll bounce all over the alley."

"And that's...?"

"Bad," he supplies. Is he aware that his breath tickles her neck? Is he aware of just how close they are? Did he plan this? He planned this. This is totally an excuse to get close to her. "Okay, yeah, there. That's better."

Better is subjective. She's bent over, one hand clutching at a ball filled with diseased fingerprints, with a boy standing over her. If "better" is defined as "blushing awkwardly while being incredibly flustered and slightly repulsed", then sure, she's "better".

"Okay, so, now you swing your arm." His fingers ghost over her wrist and tentatively grab hold. Which, okay, okay, she can do this. She's had plenty of boyfriends in the past and has made out plenty of times. She is used to people touching her. "Gain some momentum, and aim for the center pin."

The weight of her cream-soda-orange ball is quick to lull her arm into a rhythmic swinging. She doesn't even notice when Nate lets go. "Okay, now what?"

"Let it fly."

She does. With a great heave, the ball flies from her hand and bounces across the shiny alley floor, then falls into the gutter.

"Did you see that? That was—That was—" She breathes in deep, still feeling the power of her muscles straining against the ball's weight. "...kind of exhilarating."

Nate blinks at her. "That," he says, "was a gutter ball."

"Is that good?"

"Not really, no." He smiles at her gently. "Your goal is to knock  _down_  the pins."

"...oh." She feels so stupid.

"But hey! Good energy!" He claps enthusiastically as the ball return belches up her ball again. "Next time, try to release it close to the ground, that way the momentum will make it roll."

She does. This time, the ball clips the edges of the array of pins.

"Hey! There you go!"

Yancy laughs.

The whole place reeks of sweat and melted cheese and feet and chili fries. Her borrowed shoes feel awkward on her feet and the ball tugs heavily at her arm.

It's weird. It's gross. It's incredibly pedestrian.

She loves it.

"Do you do this all the time?" she asks.

"I wish." Nate turns a fond gaze to the pins as they are reset. "The first time I went to a bowling alley, it was my friend Rosa's thirteenth birthday party."

"Your parents never took you?"

Nate purses his lips. "They weren't very fond of any place you could buy nachos at."

Ah. She thinks she understands why he brought her here, then.

"I've never had nachos," she admits sheepishly.

He flashes a grin. "Well, trust me, the nachos here are  _the best_."

When he grabs her arm, she doesn't protest or fight. Just lets it happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translates to "whatever happens, happens".


	64. 63. Virtues and vices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touko is not a saint.
> 
> Warning for implied sexual content. Nothing too graphic, but, you've been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touko put her romantic life on hold in Touya's absence.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Touko stares at her reflection in the mirror. Mascara makes her lashes thick and lush, and the color of her eyeshadow makes the cerulean blue of her eyes stand out strikingly. The red of her lips could put wine to shame. Her hair is smooth, shiny, pulled back into a chignon that makes her normally unruly mane look soft and meticulous and lovely. The lines of her brows are dark and winged. Diamonds sparkle on her neck, drip from her ears.

Black fabric clings a little too tightly to her trim figure, to her slender waist and wide hips and the swell of her breasts. Her clavicle is bared for all the world to see, tan skin luxurious and soft. She looks good. She looks sexy.

Which is good, because that's what she's going for.

Everyone knows how this goes. Three dates. That's the threshold.

She and Russ have had five.

He's too much of a gentleman to pressure her, but she can see the impatience fluttering there in his eyes whenever she pulls away from goodnight kisses. Can see the want when his hand lingers on her hip or her shoulder. And it's not that she doesn't want to. She does. She does. So what's stopping her?

(Maybe it's the fact that it's been several years since she's slept with someone. Several years since she even went on a date, had a romantic partner, sipped wine with someone she found attractive or fetching or who made her feel pretty.

To be exact, it's been three.

She'd never tell Touya this.)

Russ has asked her, in as patient a tone as a man being deprived of sex can muster, why she is so hesitant. She gave him the same spiel—not there in the relationship yet, taking things slow, I've been burned before.

_I don't want to wake up in the morning to find you gone._

He doesn't know she's not talking about a sexual partner.

Touya feels bad enough as it is without bringing this weird, complicated thing into their still-mending relationship. She won't force him to reconcile with her loneliness, how she ached with fear and desperation, how she put her life on hold for those three years to mourn his absence—because big sisters always worry about their little brothers, even if they refuse to admit it.

That responsibility isn't there anymore. She's free. Nothing should hold her back.

Hell. She's going to fuck Russ so hard that there'll be teethmarks on his ass and bruises on her inner thighs.

She's not a saint, dammit.

Pursing her lips, Touko applies some final touches to her eyeliner. Breathe in, breathe out. You're going to have sex tonight. Try not to make a mess of things. Got that, bitch?

Breathe in, breathe out.

Aching pools in her feet from standing in heels too long. Huffing, she throws on a jacket, snatches her clutch, and tosses a "see you tomorrow" as she struts out the door. She's gone before Touya can balk and process the implications.

The first thing she does when she sees Russ's car is slide into his lap and slip her tongue in his mouth and savors every minute of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do something short and quick without dialogue.


	65. 64. Necromancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bianca visits her mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: The reason Bianca's dad was so protective of her is because a year before she went out on her journey, her mom died and she's all he had left.

Bianca brings daffodils because she hears they're her mom's favorite flower.

Her father doesn't talk about her mother much anymore. Bianca does not blame him. She was barely thirteen when her mother was lost to a car accident and Bianca learned that she looks absolutely terrible in black, even if the pearls look nice.

She understands why her father is so protective of her, honestly. Her flaxen hair and big green eyes and round face are all Emma Crowley's. The only thing she has of her father's are her toes and her hands and maybe his ears. Everything else is her mother's, everything else is territory for ghosts to haunt.

The anniversary used to make her weepy. It was the worst year of her life, punctuated by greys and blacks and blues, and dreariness so deep that only Touya and Cheren could have possibly pulled her out. Plus, there was the whole reconciliation with her sexuality, which left her just as much a mess and feeling horribly guilty and there were times when she was honestly convinced that her mother was taken as punishment for being attracted to women.

Thank God Cheren had called her an idiot and scolded her so sharply. Otherwise she might have gone on blaming herself for all eternity.

Bianca is not an idiot, but she feels deeply, and those events were so close together that they just got tangled up in each other. Still, it would have been nice to actually come out to her mother—it might have been less messy if she were around when she told her father about it. Yes, he shouted, and roared, and made the house shake. Without Emma Crowley to act as a buffer, it had been so much worse. But at least he calmed down, in the end, came to acknowledge her on his own. He's still not happy, and still secretly holding out hope she'll settle down with a nice boy, but she figures he probably needs time.

Anyway, she's nineteen now and still feels hollow when she looks at the gravestone, but at least she's not crying. At least her glasses don't mist and her hands don't tremble and she doesn't collapse to her knees.

Instead, she kneels down slowly, tenderly places the flowers on the soil, and smiles gently.

"Happy birthday, Mom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this one.
> 
> Also, thank you everyone for 2000+ views!


	66. 65. Gunpowder and gunshots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the League Conference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: While Touya trained under Alder for a month, he and Benga met, and the latter immediately decided his goal in life was to surpass Touya.

Touya has a vague recollection of having met him before—it's definitely hard to forget a wild mane of ginger hair and the blinding white grin and gleaming maroon eyes that accompany them.

"Benga, right?" The name brings about fleeting memories of a month spent in quiet, sleepy Floccessy Town. He remembers trying desperately to sink into that tranquility, only to find his own inner turmoil to be an overwhelming force. "Alder's grandson?"

This elicits a carefree laugh, followed by Benga gripping his hand and shaking it so fiercely that Touya is vaguely concerned about his arm falling off. "Man, if that's the only thing you remember about me, I gotta up my game!"

Touya yanks his hand free, and only belated realizes that might be considered rude. Whoops. "Well, when you first met me, didn't you call me 'Hero of Truth'?"

At this, the ginger man winces guiltily. "Oh, shit. Yeah. I probably did. Sorry."

"It's okay." Touya has grown used to it. He's not even surprised anymore, just vaguely exasperated. "I really should be expecting it, actually. I mean, considering this is a League convention and all."

Yeah. It's really a wonder Touya's here at all. How the hell did Cheren talk him into this again? Oh, right. Guilt-tripping, obligations, and bribes of access to the liquor cabinet. Damn the crafty bastard.

Benga gives a nod of understanding. Touya's not sure he _actually_ understands, but the gesture doesn't go unappreciated. "I hear you, man." His face suddenly lights with excitement. "Hey, you wouldn't be willing to battle me, would you?"

Touya tenses.

"I've been wanting to battle you since I met you," Benga elaborates, gaining momentum, maroon eyes alight. "I didn't think I was strong enough, then, but I've been training like crazy and I'd like to give it a shot—if you'd let me, I mean."

Pursing his lips, Touya's hand drifts to his belt. The Balls on his hip are a foreign weight.

It's a common rule of the universe. Where there's smoke, there's fire. Where there's gunpowder, there's a gun. Where there's legacy, there's fans. PokeBalls, a Trainer.

Just because there's a gun, though, doesn't mean you have to pull the trigger.

"No." He musters as polite a smile as he can manage. "Thanks for the offer, but—I didn't come here to battle."

Benga's expression darkens briefly with disappointment, but he's quick to recover. "Well, that's a shame. Another time, maybe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to write Benga. Say hi to Benga. He's about twenty-one in this.


	67. 66. China teacups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I know I have NO EXCUSE for missing two weeks of updates, but I've been busy with school and finals and everything, so this honestly SLIPPED MY MIND COMPLETELY. Profuse apologies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Like all little girls, Helen Shaffer threw tea parties. Hugh attended every one.

Hugh remembers when he used to let Helen rope him into tea parties. He still remembers how the plastic tiara dug into his scalp and how the feather boa itched against his neck. Needless to say, he was relieved when she grew out of that phase and began favoring boy bands. Well, the boy bands were a problem all their own, but, an issue for another time.

"I still can't believe Mom let you use her actual china," Hugh says. He's not sure if his parents were inspired by Mrs. Alanderfer's recent garage sale or what, but now they've been encouraged to rifle through their old possessions and decide what to give away. Helen's asked for his help to clean her room out, and he's accepted.

Helen lets out a tickling laugh. "You forget how persuasive I could be, big bro."

He huffs and cuffs her over the head as she darts past. He is well-aware of how persuasive she was. After all, that's how he ended up with a tiara in his hair and his ass wedged in a plastic chair.

"Oooh!" Helen turns back to him, flashing a grin that just screams of trouble. "Look what  _I_  found."

"Dare I ask?"

With a smile that reminds him of the jack-o-lanterns they used to put on the porch every Hollow's Eve, she pulls out a big feather boa--hot pink and glittery and the stuff of literal nightmares.

"Oh  _God_." He  _remembers_  that boa. She used to tie it as tight as a noose around his throat before jabbing that damned tiara into his hair. "I thought I threw that out."

She gasps in alarm. "How dare you!"

" _Look_  at it."

"It's gorgeous," she sniffs. She throws the boa over her shoulders and sweeps it around her neck with a decisively prissy "hmph!". "Y'know what?"

He doesn't like the look in her eyes. "What?"

"I'm gonna go get the tea set," she announces, and then prances off.

"We have to finish unpacking!" Hugh shouts after her, but he knows they're not going to finish today. He's going to get roped into another make-believe tea party, just like back when they were little. And he'll go along with it, too.

Let is never be said he's not a good big brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugh is a Good Brother.


	68. 67. Pinky promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheren muses about Helen and Bandit's progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: When Pokemon suffer from prolonged abuse, they often need to undergo reconditioning so they don't take out this abuse on anyone around them. This is usually a long and arduous process.

Red light flickers as Helen returns Bandit to his Ball. Cheren eyes the deep furrows torn into dirt battlefield, where the Liepard struck too hard, blows that were meant to tear deep into flesh and send blood spraying across the floor.

It's true that they have made significant improvement since Helen first knocked on the Gym door and meekly asked if Cheren would help her find the sweet little Purrloin she knew, somewhere in this vicious beast that he'd become. Bandit is no longer crouched into corners, hissing at anything that comes too close. Bandit no longer needs to be confined into his Ball for fear of hurting anyone grievously. The Liepard is no longer hyper sensitive to noise and hyper aggressive towards the slightest advances. Helen can now reach out and touch her pet, even if the Dark-Type will only grudgingly accept the touch and will tense only slightly without fully enjoying it.

Still, they have a long ways to go.

The Shadow Triad conditioned Bandit to be a ruthless weapon, one capable of felling opponents with a few choice strikes. To destroy and hurt and slaughter mindlessly. They have worked to calm the aggressive impulses for the most part, but there is still an underlying risk that Bandit could lash out if provoked. The new goal is to recondition the Liepard so its blows are no longer lethal in nature.

Cheren places a hand on the back of his Stoutland, Baldwin. The Normal-Type's cape of fur is thick like iron plates, and even a Liepard's vicious claws can only leave shallow impressions. "You okay there, buddy?"

Baldwin gives an enthusiastic yip, and then proceeds to slather Cheren's cheek in saliva. He grimaces, but allows it.

Helen sighs quietly as she turns Bandit's Ball over in her hand. Cheren pauses.

"Hey." Helen looks up at him with dull eyes. He tries to give a reassuring smile. "Don't get discouraged. We've made a lot of progress so far, and we will get there. Trust me."

"You think?"

"Definitely." He crosses his heart, just like he and Touya and Bianca used to when they were kids. "Promise."

"That's not how you make a promise," she huffs, and then sticks her pinky finger out.

Oh, what the hell. Cheren hooks her pinky with his own. "There. Believe me now?"

She grins. "Yeah."

"Now go home before your parents worry," he says. "And be back here tomorrow at three, sharp."

"Yes sir!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A formal thank you for 100+ kudos.


	69. 68. Chrysalis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juniper reflects on how people change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Despite Rosa's glowing recommendation, Juniper had some initial concerns.

Aurea watches from a distance, because it is simply too odd a sigh not to behold. Her young aides, some of them unpaid intents and some of them professionally hired, are engaged in a vigorous debate with none other than N Harmonia.

Rosa had been the one to ultimately persuade Aurea to allow the young man to help assist her in the lab-- _He needs something to do_ , Rosa had argued. _Otherwise he's just going end up sleeping in a forest or whatever._ And she'd even gotten her mother and Aurea's friend, Maeve, to back her up, and Bianca as well, which meant she was basically cornered on almost all sides. Even Touko and Cheren, who had at the time harbored some lingering resentment towards the former King, both seemed to acknowledge that it may allow the young man to gain some much-needed perspective. Aurea had never really gotten Touya's opinion on the matter, as he had not been present at the time, but she thinks he likely would have agreed.

And besides, the scientist in her agreed that having someone capable of understanding Pokemon speech in the lab would prove vital to her research. She offered him the opportunity to help, if he so wished. It took several months to get in contact with him, and several more before he gaze her definitive answer.

It had been awkward, at first. N, while much worldlier and relaxed than his withdrawn, wary self had been two years ago, was still rather distant towards her. He'd made his opinion of her clear when they'd first met face-to-face in Chargestone Cave, and he denounced her. That opinion had clearly changed, but she could tell he harbored a touch of guilt for his acerbic words back then. He was skittish around her for a while, and Bianca tried her best to slowly get him to open up to the other aides. It was slow-going, but there was progress, however minute.

Now, she looks at this young man and wonders if he is really the same person she encountered in the caverns. She remembers the contempt in his eyes, remembers the cold expression on his face and the sneer in his mouth, self-righteous and haughty and sanctimonious. And she can't quite reconcile it with the person now, who is debating with a smile on his face and a passionate shimmer in his eye, who's intellectual passion overshadows the desire to be right. Completely different, she muses. Like he'd cast off the cold exterior he used to wrap around himself like a cloak, shed it like a butterfly does its cocoon.

Well, if this wasn't evidence that people change, then Aurea didn't know what was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to try a stab at one without dialogue.


	70. 69. Casino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I APOLOGIZE FOR THE SUDDEN AND UNEXPLAINED HIATUS. IT's A LONG STORY BUT FOR NOW ENJOY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Touya often forgets to charge his Xtransceiver.

A small groan gets trapped in Touya’s throat as he runs a hand over his face. "No, the lameness doesn't make it funny. The lameness makes it a  _dad joke_."

With a pensive hum, N tilts his head to one side and seems to mull this over for a moment. Then he declares, "I still do not understand the correlation between fathers and chickens crossing a road."

"That's not—never mind." This is what he gets for trying to teach the most literal person in Unova about slang and pop culture. Sighing, Touya turns the key in the lock.

When the door opens, though, he finds Touko pacing the length of the apartment, her Xtransceiver pulled up to her scowling face and still dressed her work clothes despite having gotten off work hours ago. A wheeled carryon is set up beside the coffee table, the handle extended outwards, as though just waiting for someone to grab it.

“I don’t know _what’s_ keeping him, Russ,” his sister is saying. From the sound of her voice, he gets the feeling that he doesn’t want to be on the other end of that particular conversation. “I _wish_ I could contact N, but he probably left his Xtransceiver at the professor’s— _again_!”

Touya glances at N, who sheepishly ducks his head with a faint flush. So, Touko’s probably not too far off the mark there.

“We’ve been over this," she goes on. "My brother is a _dumbass_.”

Okay. That’s enough. Touya clears his throat loudly.

She jumps and whirls around, face slack in surprise. However, she is quick to regain her exasperated scowl, glancing back down at her Xtransceiver. “Okay. He’s here. Give me half an hour.”

Without any other explanation, she hangs up. He can feel N giving him an inquisitive look, but Touya honestly doesn’t have an answer here, so.

The next thing he knows, his vision is filled with Touko standing too close, indignant blue eyes and hands on her hips. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Huh?”

“I texted you, like, an hour ago!”

Oh. So that’s what that was. “I got a text right before my battery ran out, but I wasn’t able to read it.”

For several seconds, she only stares at him blankly. “Did you not bring your charger with you?”

“Forgot it.” An unfortunate habit he’d picked up traveling the world. In fact, when he left Unova three years ago, he’d forgotten to take it with him.

Touko pinches her nose. “Of _course_ you did.”

“Why do you have a suitcase?” N asks. “Are you going on a trip?”

“Yup!” She turns heel so fast that Touya to flinch back, otherwise her ponytail would slap his face. Her kitten heels clack against the hardwood. “Me and my branch earned a trip ‘cause we were the top seller in our district. We’re going to a casino for the weekend.”

Touya blinks, processing that. “The—as in the _whole_ weekend?”

“Uh huh!” She snatches the carrion, flashing a lightning-bright grin. “It’s gonna be a blast!”

Knowing Touko, her idea of “a blast” involves getting blackout drunk, all you can eat shrimp cocktails, and then vomiting all over a roulette wheel. Also, cocktail dresses. The tiny black glittering kind that clings to her breasts and hips. He feels a migraine coming on. “I’m guessing you want us to watch the apartment in the meantime.”

“Pretty much.” Flicking her hair back, she marches over to the door. Sending Touya a look of bewilderment, N steps out of the way. “But just so you know, you’ll be totally alone.”

Something about the way she says that causes worry to flutter in his gut. Not the familiar worry associated with a wild older sister and lacking a father figure, making him the default male figure of the household. This is something more ominous. “...what do you mean?”

“Nothing!” Her devious smile says otherwise. “Just wanted to remind you that laundry costs two dollars—y’know in case you end up _dirtying the sheets_.”

He squawks and turns bright red, but she only cackles and closes the door after her.

“What was that about?” N asks, bewildered.

Face burning, Touya refuses to look at him. “ _Nothing_.”

Older sisters are the _worst_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July was a super busy month for me and I barely had any time to myself, so this drabble, which I started somewhere at the end of June, ended up sitting around for like a month before I could get back to it. And then I came back to it, hated it, and started rewriting it. I meant to finish it, but I sort of lost my writing mojo for a while, kept putting off, that sort of thing. Thankfully, I managed to get it back, and here we are.
> 
> I'll be honest here. I've been struggling with motivation for these drabbles over the past few weeks, and the next theme (Oliver Twist) is leaving me kind of stuck. I actually wanted to post it this week but I just can't find any inspiration in regards to it. The best I can think of is to have one of the characters read the actual book, but I'm not sure _who_.
> 
> So here's what I'm going to do! I'm opening the floor up to any suggestions from all you commenters. Tell me who you think the next drabble should be about and whoever gets the most votes will spotlight the next drabble.
> 
> Thank you everyone so much for your patience,  
> Luna


	71. 70. Oliver Twist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So, I'm disappointed to say that only one personal actually commented with a suggestion for this, so I'm going with that. Special thanks to Kyubahubba.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Anthea and Concordia sort of took different roles while teaching N. Anthea's lessons focused mostly on history, literature, and poetry. While Concordia's focused around mathematics, sciences, and geography. While N preferred Anthea's teaching style, he liked the subject material of Concordia's lessons.

“I’m still not entirely sure what this play is about,” Concordia mutters as she flips through the playbill.

“It’s a dramatic adaption of a classic novel,” huffs Anthea, slightly indignant. “So just be quiet and enjoy the show.”

Sandwiched between them, N tries not to let his discomfort show. He loves them both equally, as any brother would love his older sisters, but it’s times like this when he laments just how starkly different the two are. It’s not that they argue regularly (or, at least, they’ve rarely argued in his presence beyond little joking ribs). But when they do, it often boils down to a simple difference of opinion and view of the world. Concordia, who is serious and logical, and Anthea, who is passionate and sentimental, have always been polarized to one another in their fundamental interests.

“And it’s a musical,” adds Anthea with a sniff.

Concordia frowns. “What’s the difference?”

“I believe it would be the element of singing and dancing,” N says, to which Anthea giggles and Concordia scowls.

His blonde sister huffs and snaps the playbill closed. “I fail to grasp the entertainment value of this entire venture.”

“I thought that, too.” N thinks about the violin concert he and Touya attended—three months ago? It feels like so much longer than that. “But performances can actually be quite enjoyable. I think the appeal comes from the storytelling aspect.”

“Exactly!” Anthea exclaims. A few people behind her shush her, but she waves them off absently, still facing him and Concordia. “Reading is one thing. But _watching_ the magic unfold? There’s nothing like it!”

Concordia looks entirely unconvinced, but she shrugs and concedes anyway. Let it never be said that she isn’t gracious. “I suppose... there is visual appeal to consider.”

As she says that, the lights dim, and a hush falls over the rest of the audience. Wonder shines in Anthea’s russet eyes, wide and waiting, her body leaned forward a tad and her hands curling in her skirt. Concordia looks a bit more reserved, her chin tilted slightly upwards and her shoulders back, as a refined young lady would. They’re both so different, N knows. Logic and sentiment, yin and yang.

And yet... opposites do not repel each other in the way you expect.

N thinks about that as the play starts, and wonders why it is that Touya shoved the tickets in his hand not longer after Touko left and seemed to be avoiding spending too much time alone with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me that I haven't written a lot of the Anthea-Concordia-N-sibling-relationship. So here we go.
> 
> Also! I just realized that I first started posting this on August 4th of last year, so, happy belated one-year anniversary to _Let the dominoes fall_!


	72. 71. Euphoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The early stages of a romance are beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: At the beginning of their relationship, Nate and Yancy text a _lot_.

Lately, Yancy has found that texting with Nate to be something of a respite.

Between the wildness of fashion shows and songwriters shoving their music in her face and recording studios and talk of TV show (oh boy)—he’s this funny, brief moment of levity in the eye of the storm. She can literally feel all the insanity whirling, whirling, whirling, like a hurricane tipping on its axis, autographs and paparazzi flying this way and that. By simply taking ten or so to minutes herself, she can feel the tension melting from her shoulders. He’s her reset button, in a way. A normal person who talks to her about normal things.

Are reset buttons supposed to make you smile this much, though?

“Someone’s happy,” muses her manager one day, after she’s returned from one of her little breaks. They’re growing a tad more frequent than anyone might have liked, and Yancy has to be careful otherwise rumors of her taking drugs might start stirring.

She didn’t even realize she was smiling until then. “I was just reading something.”

“Something interesting?”

By “interesting”, she knows her manager doesn’t mean Nate text-babbling on and on about his job. By “interesting”, she knows her manager means something more career-centered, like the fact that her latest song is at the top of the charts. “I guess.”

“Well, you can focus on that later,” says her agent. “Right now, I have good news—we just booked you on the Ulman Show!”

And Yancy knows she should be thrilled, because it is a huge step forward in her career to go on a talk show of any kind, and Zachary Ulman is a tasteful but brilliant comedian that she’s always admired. But compared to the rush of elation that comes from Nate sending her something as simple as an emoji in reply, her smile feels a little more forced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really a lot to say. Senseless fluff is senseless fluff.


	73. 72. Green eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris and Bianca's first meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Iris fancied herself a protector or hero when she was younger. Perhaps part of her still does.

Iris remembers the first time she met Bianca.

She was visiting Burgh, because she liked his art and Drayden wanted her to experience life beyond Ophelucid. The city was loud and bright, glittering metal and neon lights and dizzying buildings that flirt with the sky. It was not unlike Ophelucid in a way, for Ophelucid was known as the city of the future, but it was the sheer _size_ of it that left her dazzled.

The pier dazzled her. There was no glimpse of the ocean in Ophelucid, only mountains and deep forests that she could lose herself in when she was feeling particularly frustrated. Something about letting nature curl up inside your lungs soothed you to the depths of your soul.

Castelia had the desert and the sea, but nothing else. The desert was too much dust and hot wind and sand in your eyes. The air around the pier tasted like salt, thick and heavy, cool seafoam splashing in your face. Iris had never been on a boat but she imagined it felt like sitting on the end of the pier, just with the ground beneath her feet swaying rhythmically, liquid and bobbing.

There was a girl there, Iris remembers. A girl that stumbled onto the pier, swaying precariously, as though balancing on the razor’s edge of misery and about to fall off. She remembers acting without thinking. Catching the girl as she fell.

Green eyes, Iris remembers. Big, olive-green eyes. Teary and glistening, liquid-bright. They were sort of pretty, if they weren’t weeping so profusely.

“What’s wrong?” Iris asked. She gripped the other girl’s shoulders firmly with her own brown hands.

Blubbering, the girl mumbled something about a stolen Munna and an ambush in an alley. As the collar of Iris’s shirt grew damp, something fierce and protective surged within her, and her grip on the other girl’s shoulders tightened. She didn’t know the girl’s name, but that hardly mattered. An irreplaceable friend had been stolen from her. And Iris was going to get that friend back.

Perhaps she thought herself a white knight of some kind. What a fitting way to begin their acquaintanceship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Senseless fluff.


	74. 73. Piercing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after drabble 57 (debauchery).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: For all her practicality, Rosa is an idealist.

Touya’s words linger in Rosa’s mind for weeks after the encounter. Despite their quote-unquote truce, they do not see each other regularly, so she is left to ponder his arguments in her own solitude.

His implication that nothing matters is baffling to her. It’s nihilistic in the worst way, a juxtaposition of her own idealism.

She is aware of her own nature—it was what spurred her to take a stand against Plasma when they first cropped up in Aspertia, her own sense of self-righteous justice and making the world better. Melodrama, good versus evil, good comes out on top. When she learned that the situation was much more layered, that the Hero she idolized for two years was intimately intertwined with someone she loathed, it had thrown off her true north.

She’s reconciled with that, at least. Now she knows that N is a kind individual guided in the wrong direction. Now she knows that Touya’s leaving was as spontaneous and abrupt as it may have seemed, but rather something that had been a long-time coming.

But what he said though...

It curls up in the corner of her mind like a lazy housecat. And now, on her way back from a day on-set, that housecat stretches in the sun, and her thoughts flutter back to his cynicism.

Rosa Alanderfer is many things, but a cynic she is not. Still, Touya’s speech struck her, instilled in her a sense of doubt.

 _There’s really nothing to_ do _once the dust settles_ , she’d told Touya.

And she’d meant it. It’s hard to slip back into the mundaneness of life after something as fantastical as dragon-gods and villains and playing hero. That thought had haunted the back of her mind for a long time now, but it never bothered her this much until now.

Maybe it was just because she finally admitted it.

It is not that Rosa is no longer an idealist. Because she is. She believes in happy endings and things being resolved, and good conquering evil the way it’s meant to. She just didn’t expect her happy ending to feel less than her beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was just rereading my old stuff and thought I should continue off of it a little.


	75. 74. North star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh and Rosa contemplate the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: When they were little, Hugh and Rosa hung out mostly from convenience. They grew closer as time went on and formed a genuine friendship.

When Hugh was young, before Nate had invaded their lives somewhere around the third grade, he and Rosa were inseparable.

They were seven. Hugh’s sister had just been born and was disrupting the relative sanctity of his home life with her incessant wailing. He had not learned to care for her as deeply as he does now, so instead of contributing as he ought to, he instead escaped to Rosa’s place. Her mom worked lots and her dad worked lots and that usually meant that Rosa had the house to herself. She never did anything that you ought to do when you have the house to yourself, like raid the pantry for sugary snacks and stay up all night, and she was kind of bossy in some ways, but he sort of enjoyed hanging out with her regardless.

One night, he persuades her to wander outside her house so they can watch the sun set on the Outlook. The sky sun is bloody red as it drips low, turning the horizon to golden-orange flame and the clouds to dark patches of smoke. Above the thick fiery band of the sunset, the sky is deepening into a luscious shade of indigo.

“The stars aren’t out yet,” she huffs, draping her arms over the railing. Her pudgy cheek is smushed against her elbow as she stares listlessly at the sky.

He snorts. Other girls would think the sunset pretty and romantic and try to hold his hand or something—she just complains. “What’s so great about the stars, anyway? You can’t even see ‘em out in the city anyway.”

“That’s not true!”

“Is so! Too much light—Mom said so.”

“Well you can see Polaris,” she retorts a very know-it-all sort of way.

A growl half-forms in the back of his throat as being refuted. She was really quite annoying, somehow. “What’s that?”

“It’s the brightest star in the night sky.” Having delivered this little fact, she tilts her nose up smugly. “Sailors use it to sail by.”

“You mean the north star,” Hugh realizes.

She sends him an odd look, like he has his head screwed on backwards or there’s a giant spot on his forehead. “I know. That’s what it’s called.”

What is she _talking_ about?

“Its real name is ‘Polaris’,” she goes on haughtily. She’s real annoying, Rosa. If it weren’t for convenience, he wouldn’t spend any time with her. “But everyone just calls it the ‘north star’.”

Darkness is bleeding into the sky, the sun all but vanished over the end of the skyline. All that exists of the sunset now is a thin band of burning vermillion. The endless expanse of trees is dark, thick pines that ripple over the hills and look black as the on-setting night. A few pinpricks of light have begun to faintly emerge.

He tugs his jacket tighter around him. There’s a chill in the air. “Why do people take directions from a star?” he asks suddenly.

Goosebumps trace her arms. She removes herself from the railing and fights a shiver. “‘Cause it’s reliable. It always shows you where you’re going.”

Even now, a little more than a decade later, when Hugh is lost in the woods or spending the night out camping in the wilderness, he looks at the sky and searches for Polaris. Because the moon is inconsistent and wanes into nothing, but the stars are constant, reliable. And it’s the brightest star in the sky—he knows without a doubt that Rosa is probably looking at it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for missing last week. I was trying to muster up the motivation and... yeah. But here it is! One sweet, syrupy childhood one-shot.


	76. 75. Goggles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa and Touya decide to visit the Abyssal Ruins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: In the few months that they've known each other, Touya has never really called Rosa a "Hero".

“I’m still not sure why you asked me to do this,” Rosa deadpans, staring down at the plastic swimming goggles with a vague sense of disgruntlement. They were bright pink and childish beyond words, made more for someone under the age of ten rather than a recently-turned eighteen-year-old.

Dressed in an insulating wetsuit, Touya slides his goggles over his head with really looking at her. “Well, I needed to get out of the house, N _insists_ I to get to know you... and here we are.”

Annoyance flares in her chest. “So you’re only doing this because you have nothing better to do.”

He glances her way and carefully takes in her expression. Whatever it is he sees, his expression softens a little. “No. I mean--you’re not _terrible_ , and I kinda feel bad, so...”

Oh. She wasn’t expecting anything like this, and... Looking at the childishly-bright goggles, she muses that perhaps she’s been a little unfair to him, too, in the past. “Alright, I accept your premise. But what does that have to do with the Abyssal Ruins?”

Touya is gathering a wetsuit that she assumes to be hers when she speaks, and then he stops to stare at her openly. An instinctive part of her bristles against the perceived judgement. “‘I accept your premise’?”

Her cheeks warm. Okay, yes, she has a big vocabulary (or, as Nate says, she “talks in smart”, whatever the _hell_ that means). That’s what happens when you grow around a super-smart nurse for a mom, and it is not her fault that other people haven’t. “Answer the damn question!”

Her tone must be more confrontational than she intended, because Touya scowls at her. “I dunno. It’s full of ancient artifact from three-thousand years ago and you’re the Hero of Ideals, so... Figured it’d interest you?”

A little gasp leaves her throat before she can clap a hand over her mouth.

“What?”

She looks down at the goggles again, because she will _not_ look him in the eye right now. The rubber strap ends up tangled around her index finger. “...I think that’s the first time you called me the Hero pf Ideals.”

“...okay, but you are? Like, I just didn't think I needed to state the obvious.”

Ugh. Men. They don’t understand anything. She grabs her wetsuit out of his hand and marches off with then intent to change. It’s still utterly moronic, the whole thing but she supposes that she can endure it for one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably go back and edit this later.


	77. 76. Maiden name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR THE UNTIMELY HIATUS I'M BACK NOW I PROMISE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Cheren is not very close with his parents.

There is a lot Cheren doesn’t know about his family.

His friends seem to exist on opposite ends of a spectrum, where Touya’s mother is loving and patient, firm but encouraging, while Bianca’s father is stern and temperamental, restrictive despite his fierce devotion to her. Bianca always warred against her father. Touya never once bickered with his mother (Touko did, but Touko was wild at fifteen and seemed to thrive off rebellion). And Cheren... well.

He was somewhere in the middle, he supposed.

Neither his mother or father were particularly indulgent with him, never really sat down with him and discussed his life goals. At some point, perhaps when he was twelve or eleven or maybe even before then, they noticed that he was far more mature than someone of his age and weren’t really sure where they fit in anymore. They backed off, gave him space, waited for him to need them again.

And he never really did.

It’s with chagrin that he looks back and realizes what a selfish _brat_ he was, really. Thinking he could do everything on his own, believing that he could get far on his _own_ strength. As though people are meant to go through this world solitarily, as though love and friendship were an indulgence rather than a necessity.

This all first occurs to him sometime after Touya vanishes from Unova. They haven’t yet realized that he’s gone, left the region, vanished for what will be years and years. Cheren is still simmering with annoyance over their last fight—about goals and moving forward and not quite knowing how. He had gone through a lot personal inquisition and found that he wasn’t willing to pursue the Championship any longer, but nor was he willing to abandon the League entirely.

 _You’re just clinging to it out of stubbornness_ , had been Touya’s sharp remark, and it hit hard.

Ultimately, Cheren does not start filling out a Gym Leader’s application because he thinks about contributing the future generation’s growth or improving Pokemon-Trainer relationships. Those things come later, when he fully reconciles with the fault in his behavior. Rather, he does it out of spite and irritation and a desire to prove Touya wrong, but also because it is an acceptable middle ground. Only later will he acknowledge the opportunity he’s been presented with and smack himself for being so childishly impulsive.

However, he finds himself pausing at the top of the page, where it asks applicants to list their parents’ names and, if available, their mother’s maiden name. It is all completely optional of course, and for once, he leaves blank spaces on the paperwork. After always doing the bonus question on tests in school, after reading ahead in textbooks and staying up late to study the battle strategies of tournament competitors on TV—he leaves blank spaces.

Blank spaces are damning, in a way. It means admitting you don’t know everything, admitting that you don’t have everything all figured out.

He feels a little lost while he does so, but he submits the application anyway.

He calls up his parents that night and asks them all the things he doesn’t know about them. And to think that, after a lifetime of being the “smart one”, he still has so much to learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More coming in a sec.


	78. 77. 1666

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'LL TRY TO UPDATE MORE FREQUENTLY FROM NOW ON.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: N is a math genius.

Touya finds N hunched over the coffee table and surrounded by enough parchment to choke a Hippowdon and isn’t sure what to think.

Seeing as the former king is engaged in what appears to be a rapt fascination, he closes the door slowly and quietly, then carefully makes his way over to the kitchen. Papers have completely taken over the modest piece of furniture, even going so far as to spill onto the couch and the floor, every last one of them marred by rapid ink-marks that vaguely take the shape of numbers. At least, Touya _thinks_ they’re numbers. He failed math three years in a row and barely scraped by all the other times. He’s useless at calculus, and this looks like calculus. Or physics. Physics is math, right? Or is it science?

Touko is currently watching the display from behind the counter with a mug in hand that reads “World’s Best Boss” with hearts in the place of “o”s, a look of mild intrigue on her face. Whatever she sips in a slow, contemplative manner steams and smells faintly of hazelnut (so probably coffee with liberal amounts of creamer, because Touko is weird).

“So,” he begins settling beside her. He notes that her makeup is gone and her hair is down, which means she’s been home for a while. “Gonna fill me in on what’s going on?”

A mischievous smile flashes across her face. “Would you believe me if I told you Harmonia had a breakdown and now he’s trying to invent a death-ray?”

“That’s not funny.”

“Fine. Be a loser.” She takes another sip from her cup, long and slow, eyes half-lidded as she turns back to the coffee table. N’s pen is blurring in his hand, and he darts around as though he can’t contain himself in one spot. There’s something oddly fascinating about watching... “Boring version is this—there’s been a few discrepancies here and there in our company’s record books over the years, no matter _what_ the company account insists, so I’m having our resident math-geek double-check.”

“Pretty sure that’s unethical,” Touya points out. Isn’t there some protocol that keeps you from bringing in personal connections into your workplace? There has to be, otherwise the mob would be running the economy.

Seeming not to hear him, Touko hums and drums her fingers against the side of her mug. “He doesn’t even need a calculator. Isn’t that wild?”

N scribbles something out furiously. He has a pencil tucked behind his ear for some reason, but seems largely oblivious to it.

Touya frowns at his sister. “You’re taking advantage of our _friend_.”

That she hears, and smiles back brightly. “And his genius brain,” she retorts. “And it’s not ‘taking advantage’ if I’m paying him.”

“...what?”

“I’m basically hiring a new accountant,” she explains, evidently pleased with herself. “We’ll need one if Larry is skimming off the books.”

“Who’s _Larry_?”

“The corrupt accountant!”

N sits up, so sharply and suddenly that Touya nearly jumps out of his skin. He mutters something feverishly while he bites the end of his pen, something wild and unfocused but brimming in his eyes. It’s the same dizzying look he got when he was talking about liberation and truths and ideals and ushering the world into a new era. Abruptly, Touya realizes there’s a spot of ink on the tip of N’s nose, a single blue dot that draws attention to it, and just below that are—

Touya looks away, heart in his throat. “...he’s going to ruin all our pens like that.”

If Touko notices his sudden blush, she doesn’t comment. “If I get a raise, it’ll be worth it.”

“You’re a greedy capitalist.”

“ _Duh_.”

A raking sound, like a pencil being dragged across parchment, has the Kokuen siblings turning back just in time to see N vigorously circling something. Again, the former king sits up, something deeply satisfied and thrilled in his expression. Touya blinks, feeling strangely warm, as N announces, “There is a discrepancy as large as sixteen-hundred-sixty-six thousand pokken.”

It’s hard to think clearly with his pulse thrumming in his ears, but Touya manages somehow. “Sixteen-hundred,” he repeats carefully, “sixty-six—”

“ _Thousand_ ,” Touko finished with a snarl. Her mug slams into the counter, diffused coffee spilling out all over the granite. “That little _weasel_. He’s been getting fat off _our_ paychecks!”

“Well, actually,” N begins, seeming breathless with exhilaration, “this is over the course of nearly twenty-five years, so you have to diffuse the total amount over monthly _increments_ , and when you do _that_ —”

Touya has to leave the room after that. Math used to give him a headache, but now N’s eyes are _shining_ and his feelings towards the subject have just gotten needlessly complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really liked writing this.


	79. 78. Lily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I LOST MY MOTIVATION ON THIS FOR A WHILE BUT I'M BACK NOW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Nate has dated (and I mean "properly" dated) approximately twenty-one girls so far (not counting Yancy). Not all of these relationships ended well.

Nate grabs Yancy’s wrist and suddenly ducks into an alleyway.

“What,” she starts, but Nate isn’t paying attention, back pressed against the concrete and peering tentatively around the corner. “Uh, Nate?”

“Ex-girlfriend,” he says hastily. “Long story.”

It’d _better_ be. There are new shoes and now she’s stepping in... is that an old newspaper? It’s soggy and gross and the paper is so ruined that she can’t make out any scrap of text, much less the picture on the front page. Also, it smells of urine in here. _Urine_. She had no idea places like this actually existed outside of movies. Yuck!

A moment later, a slim blonde flutters past in a whisper of long honey hair and long legs shown off by a miniskirt and—is that a diamond necklace? That looks like a diamond necklace. Yancy catches a glance at her face and everything in her freezes, cold and halting.

The moment she’s out of sight, Nate relaxes, leaning his head back with a drawn-out sight of relief. “Okay. We’re good.”

“That was Lily Garson,” Yancy hears herself say.

Surprise colors Nate’s expression. “You know her?”

“Who _doesn’t_?” Lily Garson was the obnoxious daughter of Jack Garson, a famous rom-com star that Yancy was loosely acquainted with. She’d sung a song for one of his movies. “How do _you_ know her? How did you _date_ her?”

To Yancy’s surprise, Nate’s face twists into annoyed scowl. “My... father, worked on one of her dad’s movies.”

That raises a whole new slew of questions and Yancy opens her mouth to ask, but Nate has already turned away. He reaches out, loosely grasping her wrist in his hand, and gives an insistent tug. “C’mon. The ice cream parlor is just around the corner.”

...fine. But this _isn’t_ over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, at this point, these two are moving towards "established relationship" territory.
> 
> Also, profound thanks for 3000+ views!


	80. 79. Kerosene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy (early) Halloween!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon: Hugh's temper doesn't completely define his personality. He is capable of thinking logically and making careful judgements, but when he _does_ get angry, it tends to consume him. It's hard to calm him when he gets into a rage.

They say that kerosene fires don’t burn hot enough to melt steel.

Hugh thinks there’s some truth to this. He’s always been hot-blooded, always been fiery and impulsive. Sure, he can mask it behind an aloof demeanor, can put it on a backburner to play nice with his little sister, can relax his white-knuckled grip upon it in the presence of his loved ones. But it’s always there, that rashness boiling under his skin, thrumming in his veins.

His father laughingly informs him Hugh gets it from him. In his youth, his father was a Blackbelt Trainer who trained under Gym Leader Chuck in Johto. That passion that burns in his belly is that of a warrior, or so his father says. It’ll take him far, if he learns how to temper it.

But he never does. He doesn’t earn the discipline of a trained fighter or discover how to hone this passion into something more potent, something other than the fumes of rage that chokes his lungs.

There is a fire in his belly but most of the time what comes out is useless smoke.

The thing about getting angry is that it’s childish, that it solves nothing. There is righteous anger, and he has lots of it—but most of the time it is tantrums and snarling and letting rage boil in his blood until he is sated by its heat. Sometimes it is clinging to that sensation so strongly he doesn’t even notice it rotting inside of him, growing bitter and black, until it is a poison that he must purge for his own survival. He is quick to anger and slow to forgiveness and that’s why he doesn’t accompany Rosa to her regular trips to the halfway house in Driftveil. It’s why he makes it a point of not going to Driftveil, period.

The thing about anger is that it in itself is not productive. If you can learn how to turn into motivation, then it becomes infinitely useful. But for the most part, it isn’t. It’s something that demands your attention, demands you to feed it, keep it burning, demands much energy than it is ultimately worth.

If the world is steel, then even the most righteous of fury is a kerosene fire. Kerosene fires can heat steel, make it more pliant and malleable, but it will never melt.

See, the world goes not yield to temper tantrums. It does not yield to the violent passion that wells within individuals. Indignance, irritation, fury born from the senseless chaos of the world. But you can rant and rail and breathe as much fire as you want—it’s a kerosene fire, and steel will not melt.

So where does that leave you, then? Hugh wonders about that often. If steel becomes malleable under this intense heat, malleable but melted, does that mean you can shape into something new? Nothing comes into being without some passion. The greatest feats of passion define eras, weave the fabric of history. Some of that is senseless anger, others vengeance and bloodshed, but change for the better is brought about by righteous fury, a drive that consumes your soul without burning it to ask. A kerosene fire that makes you stronger, refines you, makes you stronger for having your integrity tested.

Which means he needs to hone his temper, his ire. Needs to fashion it into something hot and fierce and focused, like the blue flame from a blowtorch instead of an aimless brushfire.

Kerosene fires don’t melt steel, they say. But maybe it doesn’t need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this mostly came to me after I stumbled onto a particular conspiracy theory about 9/11:
> 
> The argument is that 9/11 was an inside job because the kerosene jet fuel can't melt steel, and therefor could not have caused the towers to collapse the way they did, so there must have been some other cause. Like someone putting bombs in the basement. This is, of course, complete _bullshit_ , because no one ever said there was melted steel in the towers. Never has there been a building fire in which the steel was melted. It doesn't _need_ to be. Kerosene fires are still incredibly hot--and here's the thing about heated steel. It's malleable, bendable, weakened. The integrity of the structure was compromised by the heat, which weakened the steel sufficiently rather than melted it, and that's why the tower collapsed.
> 
> Okay, sorry about that rant. I just get pissed off by conspiracy theorists trying to wrap world events into a nice little bow when life is messy as shit and thinking that the US government would willingly sacrifice hundreds of lives just to achieve a terrorism campaign. Or stage a shooting to make a statement about gun control (Sandyhook). Or fake the moon landing (newsflash--the technology was not available, and why would other countries concede that the US got the moon first if it was all a lie? why would they lie on our behalf?).
> 
> I mean, there's nothing wrong with questioning thing, but when you call the crying parents on your TV screen hired actors, then I get pissed.
> 
> Uh... sorry. Rant over. What I mean is--Happy Halloween!


End file.
